His Doctor
by TheSherlockedBeneaddict
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has had Dr. Jo-Ann Watson for a flat mate for over six months now. She is helpful on cases and keeps him from getting bored. but what happens when new feelings of sentiment appear for her? can he really go back to life without her? Doctor Jo-Ann Watson tries to get back into dating, after a certain detective turned her world up-side-down. (fem!john, sherlock/jo-ann)
1. Chapter 1

His Doctor

Chapter 1

Sherlock smiled happily as he walked into a small apartment blocked off for police. The half wall to the right opened to reveal a small living room with orange painted walls and a single covered window. Down the hall to the left was one of the two apartment owners, a crying red haired girl, slightly overweight and with a pink shock blanket. Sherlock smirked and walked into the living room, Jo-Ann Watson in tow.

There laid a woman with long brown silky hair and unmoving eyes to match. She wore blue polka dot dress, with recently added rips and tears in the skirt and along the short sleeves. The consulting detective motioned Jo-Ann to be the first to deduce. She looked at him with her dark blue eyes and proceeded. Anderson rambled on nonsense behind them, causing Sherlock to instantly tune him out.

He analyzed the doctor in front of him, who at the time was scanning over a corpse. Sherlock had already deduced everything about the body, her entire life story. But he wanted to hear his friend's opinion... It sometimes surprised him. Sherlock's blue-grey eyes moved to Jo-Ann's lips as she began to declare what information she gathered from the body.

"Signs of being strangled over a course of ten to fifteen minutes. Also some rashes around the wrist, suggesting she was tied..."

"Yes but the ropes later removed." Sherlock followed up. Jo-Ann nodded in agreement and stood up from her kneeling position. She wore a black shooter jacket tailored to her curves, paired with loose dark grey jeans and brown loafers. Her dirty blonde hair pulled back into a small bun. She wasn't a strikingly beautiful person, some may call her cute or pretty... but her true beauty had to be looked for. Jo-Ann continued her deduction,

"There are also a lot of weapons around, but there was no sign on the body that says they were used." The small apartment living room they were in was dimly lit, and contained a few agonizing weapons. A noose, a skinning knife, machete, chainsaw with different teeth attachments, blow torch, and a bathtub... Bathtub? "What do you suppose-?"

"The killer was planning to do other things to the victim after she was already dead." Interrupted Sherlock. Jo-Ann looked at DI Lestrade, who had been present the whole time, then back at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and rambled on,

"The victim has small finger-like bruises on her neck, showing evidence that the killer was a woman. There is also an engagement ring on her respective finger, bright and polished which means newly engaged. And considering Dr. Watson's previous statement of a slow strangulation, the killer more than likely knew the victim, and on worse terms than usual. These weapons were here for the intention to further dismember the body, and the tub obviously to collect the pieces. You may think 'why not use these other weapons to kill her?' Well my answer to that is the killer wanted to see her die, to see that light in her eyes fade away slowly. Then continue dismemberment to ensure her death. However she didn't have time to complete her project when she heard someone trying to get into the apartment. The killer was a friend of the victim's fiancée' who loved him but never said so. After seeing that he was engaged to someone else, she took matters into her own hands and got rid of the would-be bride."

"And how do you know this?" asked Lestrade knowing Sherlock had an answer, crossing his arms.

"Because look at these pictures!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing at frames all over the room.

"Well that could be anyone." Anderson countered. Oh how Sherlock despised him.

"Look closer... This one has a man with a mechanic uniform on. And a name tag embroidered on the front." The tag read "Lawrence" on a strapping young man, sticking his tongue out at the camera. He had his arm around a young woman with shoulder length brown hair and green eyes. Also sticking her tongue out.

"I know him." Everyone turned around to see the red haired roommate in the entrance to the living area. "Darcy talks about him constantly." She stated, still wrapped in her shock blanket.

"Who's Darcy?" Lestrade asked.

"Darcy is the second tenant of this apartment. Check the engagement ring on the victim, see if there's an inscription." Stated Sherlock. Jo-Ann was dazed, and then complied with his command. Gently taking off the ring, the doctor read the inside:

"To my bride to be, love... Lawrence." She looked back up to the others, who just looked at Sherlock.

"Usually there are no engravings in engagement rings, but this man was head over heels. Only making the killer more infuriated. Check under Downsten Bridge, that's where she'll be." Sherlock finished calmly. Lestrade quickly gave orders to the surrounding policemen and guided the once-again crying roommate to a paramedic. Sherlock glanced at Jo-Ann then did a double take. She just stood there, staring at him with those big blue eyes. "What?" He finally asked, with his hands casually behind his back.

"That was outstanding!" She beamed at him, like she did when he deduced the security guard on the river bank. He was a bit surprised at this... It had been a long time sense she complimented him like that. He turned in place a bit, glancing at her and thinking of what to say.

"Well..." He began, "i thought you were used to it."

"You still don't cease to amaze me." She chuckled. The doctor walked past him to the door, shaking her head. Sherlock kept a straight face best he could, but couldn't help a small grin on his lips. He followed Jo-Ann shortly, without the permission of Lestrade.

Ah, Good ol' Baker street. A nice road with friendly people and lots of cabs to choose from. Walking down this street, you wouldn't expect one of the world's most brilliant, however most brutally honest and dangerous men took residence here. 221B was the address, and the wonderfully kind Mrs. Hudson was the owner. She lived on the first floor flat of the building. The second floor is where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Jo-Ann Watson resided. A small living room with a fireplace on the farthest wall, and two individual love seats on either side. On the wall closest to the door had a strange yellow smiley face painted on it, adorned with bullet holes. Below that was a brown leather couch and a coffee table with loads of paper work and files on top. Two windows covered with drapery sit on the wall facing the street, with a paper-filled desk in between. Jo-Ann Watson walked into the living room, and surveyed the mess that seemed to cover every inch of the flat. It had been only two days sense their last case and Sherlock made an awful mess when he was bored.

"Oh boy..." She mumbled. Taking off her favorite jacket, she stepped in the flat far enough to notice to the writhing, robe dressed being lying on the sofa. The doctor sighed once more and placed her coat on a hook. She then proceeded upstairs to her bedroom and began to change her clothes. After doing so, Watson walked to the bathroom to the left of the bed. Applying her make-up she noticed her possessions were misplaced. "Ohhhh Sherlock..." She whispered under her breath. Her lipstick was scraped at the top, and her moose can seemed lighter. Sherlock more than likely needed new substances to experiment on. Such was the life of Dr. Watson. Having the worlds strangest man as a flatmate was murder (no pun intended) sometimes. Finding severed body parts in the fridge, gunshots at half past two in the morning, strange clients or a blood covered Sherlock strolling through the door... Jo-Ann rolled her eyes and finished with her primping, and before she knew it, was staring down at her flatmate. "Sherlock, look at me." She demanded. The detective on the sofa only groaned in response. "Sherlock." Her voice more firm this time. Sherlock, who was facing the back side of the couch, turned his head enough to look at his assistant with one eye.

"White silk dress shirt, fine material, usual cost. Brown pencil skirt, polyester. Slim green high heels to match a thick green headband. Hair still in a bun. Clothes all ironed, shoes clean. Hair thoroughly brushed as well as the teeth...Make-up (red lipstick, black mascara, black eyeliner...) Date." He thought in a matter of a second.

"Listen. I'm going on a date with my boyfriend tonight, so please, don't...text me." Jo-Ann stated, looking down at the brilliant, yet desperately bored man before her. His brow furrowed, fully turning on his back to look Jo-Ann. "Don't look at me like that Sherlock..." She whined as she walked over to the mirror over fireplace. Sherlock quickly took notice of how uncomfortable she was in those heels... "Stepping with exceeded force, right ankle slight wobble..."He thought. Walking with a fake limp does unbalance the hips after a while. She fixed her hair slightly in the mirror, rubbing the edge of her lips, wiping off excess lipstick.

"And why is this one so important?" Asked Sherlock, getting up to look outside the window. Using only two fingers, he moved the curtains just enough to see the silver car park in front of the flat.

"Because this one actually accepts the fact that I'm living with a man." Jo-Ann stated as she went to the coat rack and grabbed a brown blazer to match her skirt.

"I don't see how it's a problem. You do sleep in another bedroom." Said Sherlock nonchalantly, grabbing Watson's gun. "Ah! No!" Was heard as Jo-Ann quickly took the gun out of his hands.

"No Sherlock! No shooting the wall while I'm gone! And do you think you could clean up a bit?" She shouted as she unloaded the gun and hid the bullet clip under some paperwork. Sherlock did notice although he made it look like he didn't. He stomped like a child to the sofa.

"Boooorrrred. Dull. Everything's so dull. And now someone i actually find interesting is leaving." Sherlock groaned as he plopped on the couch once more. The doctor looked surprised... Not often -if ever- did Sherlock call anything but a murder interesting.

"You find me in-" a doorbell interrupted her sentence.

"Two second push. Nervous but long enough to guarantee you hearing it. It's your date." Sherlock replied, folding his hands under his chin and straightening his position.

"I'll be back late... If at all." The doctor teased, heading down the stairs. The detective scrunched his nose at this.

"Make good choices!" He yelled towards the door, hoping to poke some fun at the woman. He heard voices downstairs and chose not to listen... But Sherlock was always listening.

Jo-Ann opened to door, and smiled brightly at her date. He was a tall, tanned man, nearly six foot. He had short blonde hair and glowing green eyes.

"Bill!" She smiled, pulling down his face for a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Hello Love." Bill said with a smile.

"Are you ready?"

"Uh yes- Mrs. Hudson! I'll be off!" Jo-Ann called, closing the door behind her. They walked to the silver car adjacent from the door. Baker Street looked lovely this time of night... Not lovely to just anyone, but to Jo-Ann it was a reflection of home. Old fashion lamp posts, small puddles of rain water reflecting the lights from buildings. Bill stopped just before opening the car door for Jo-Ann. She looked up at him a bit confused, tilting her head. He took the opportunity to take the doctor by the waist, and planted a tender kiss on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held the kiss for a moment. They parted from each other, and both climbed in the car for their night of romance.

Above the calm baker street, Sherlock Holmes peaked out the front window of their flat. Watching from the time they stepped out the door to the time the stepped in the car. The detective, although choosing to ignore it, couldn't help a rising disgust in his stomach.

At Angelo's restaurant, Jo-Ann and her date, Bill, and were seated by the front window. Jo-Ann smiled as she brushed her fingers against the table, affectionately. Bill took quick notice and broke the silence.

"Something wrong?" He asked. She looked up at him, now realizing she had been zoning out for some time now. She smiled nervously and looked at her hand on the table.

"This is the table Sherlock and I sat on our first case together... So long ago it would seem." Jo-Ann looked up at him and gave him a very relaxed expression. Bill's expression however was one of concern.

"You really enjoy his company, don't you?" He asked, looking at his own hand on the table, biting his lip. Jo-Ann audibly gasped as she quickly back peddled.

"Oh no no no... I'm only Sherlock's assistant! I mean i know it's strange that we share a flat" she blushed slightly at this, "but it's only because i need a place to stay and I'm the only one willing to put up with Sherlock. My bedroom is on another floor entirely, so it's not too strange... Is it?" She tilted her head, a bit surprised at her own question. Bill looked up slowly at her and opened his mouth to say something. But his mouth closed as he shook his head, smiling.

"Of course not love. There have been stranger things." He smiled sweetly. Jo-Ann smiled back, taking his hand in hers. But still wondered what he was going to say originally.

The remainder of the date went on as usual, he'd crack a joke, and she'd laugh. The both ordered the same meal -not on purpose- which only caused them to laugh more. But every few minutes, Jo-Ann would feel a chill down her spine... Cold and commanding. As her and her date left the restaurant, it seemed another patron decided to leave at that moment exactly.

"Coincidence." Jo-Ann soothed in her mind. The two drove until the stopped about a block away from Baker Street, in front of Bill's apartment building. They exited the car and met on the sidewalk.

"I thought you were taking me back to Baker Street?" She asked politely, smiling nervously.

"I'd thought we'd have a cuppa." Bill replied happily, rocking on his heels. Joann smiled weakly, tea did sound nice, but she was still nervous about going into his flat. Even though they had been dating a week, something didn't feel right. She shrugged off the feeling, however, and entered the building with Bill.


	2. Chapter 2

His doctor chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bill's flat rested on the sixth floor, towards the left side of the building. The living room was a decent size, filled with a modern couch and a coffee table, a flat screen TV and two love seats opposite. The kitchen was to the right of the living room, and the bathroom and bedroom to the left.

"Nice place…" Jo-Ann complimented as she walked over to the couch. Bill politely took off her coat, and hung it on the coat rack.

"Please sit down; I'll put the tea on." Said Bill, calmly walking into the kitchen. Jo-Ann took up on his offer, and settled into the couch. But she couldn't help a disgust rising in her stomach… something wasn't right. Before she knew it, Bill was holding a tea cup in front of her, waiting for it to be accepted.

"Oh! Thank you!" she exclaimed in surprise. Ah, the warmth of tea in her hands… it reminded her of 221B…

"Are you alright?" Bill asked, sitting in the love seat across from her.

"Oh, yes I'm… wonderful." Jo-Ann smiled. Between sipping tea and talking up a storm, she enjoyed herself. Bill however, was growing impatient. He watched Jo-Ann sip her tea once more… her soft, well-shaped lips delicately placed on the edge of the cup. Her slim hands holding it up so gently, and her eyes nearly closed while gazing into the hot liquid. She was very beautiful indeed… He couldn't take it anymore.

"You know Jo-Ann…" Bill said, hiding his shaky voice and sitting himself next to her on the couch. "You are a very beautiful woman."

"_This is bad._" Thought Jo-Ann.

"I don't know Sherlock does it…" Bill slyly grabbed Jo-Ann's free hand as she set down her tea with the other.

"D-Does what?" Jo-Ann cursed herself in her head for letting voice stutter.

"Leaves you alone… how can he not grab something as beautiful as you," he leaned in, "When you're in his reach…" silence engulfed them as Bill's lips were soon on Jo-Ann's. She returned the kiss for a few seconds, but pushed him away… too quickly for his tastes.

"I'm not in his reach." Jo-Ann replied simply. "nor am I in yours." Pushing him further, she proceeded to get off the couch. Bill's eyes lit with fury, pulling her back down to the seat. Jo-Ann tried to protest, but her mouth was occupied with Bill's unwanted lips. "Stop-!" she gasped between kisses, until she had enough. She reached over to the tea pot on the coffee table, and without hesitation, poured all of its contents on him. He quickly pulled away and yelled with pain from the hot tea. Jo-Ann took the opportunity, and bolted. She ran over to the front door, Locked! Bill was recovering, she had to think fast! After what was only a moment, she darted into the vacant bathroom and locked the door behind her. Bill wiped the access tea off his face, and ran over to the bathroom. Trying the door he murmured curses and shouted

"You can stay in there forever!" Jo-Ann heard his raspy voice and could taste his anger. Panicked, she looked for a way out. To her relief there was a fire escape! "OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" Jo-Ann ignored the shouts from her now ex-boyfriend and tried to pry open the fire escape. It wouldn't budge! Bill slammed his side on the door, loosening the hinges. She yelped and pushed on the glass on the fire escape even harder. Desperate, she tried her last option. She grabbed the lid to the back of the toilet and lifted her arms to swing… Smashing into the fire escape window, Jo-Ann turned her face from the flying glass of both the window and the porcelain lid. A searing pain rush to her left hand, but she ignored it. The bathroom door slammed open with an infuriated Bill rushing into the small room. But the only thing he saw was Jo-Ann's hand flying out of view through the fire escape window.

Jo-Ann ran breathlessly down the steel steps of the fire escape, the pain in her hand growing immensely. She knew she had injured her hand somehow, but looking at a wound in action will only hinder performance. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest as she jumped over steps at a time. A strange feeling, however, came over her… it wasn't the pain in her hand, and it wasn't the adrenaline. It was a nagging feeling, almost a comfort. It was exciting and intriguing. She jumped down from final level of the fire escape, but stumbled as she landed. She breathed heavily and got up to her feet. The steel staircase ended in a narrow alleyway next the apartment building, only lit by the street lights ahead. Jo-Ann only stood there however… seeing her escape route blocked by a rather calm Bill. She muttered curses about an elevator and took a fighting stance. Bill only laughed, and slowly walked towards her. Jo-Ann stayed completely still. Yes she was frightened, and yes she was just a doctor in Afghanistan… but she was a solider.

"I don't know why you're running… all I want is you…" Bill tried to sound as sincere as he could. Funny enough, it wasn't convincing. Jo-Ann just chuckled, and replied coldly,

"I don't believe that." He was standing in front of her now, but she didn't strike first. It would only guarantee violence.

"You should. I just want you… your lips… your hands… your body—" at this, she did strike. Bill stumbled back, and slowly wiped the blood away from his nose. Jo-Ann shook her hand and resumed her fighting stance. He chuckled, and straightened his back. "Feisty, aren't you?" just as she was about to punch him again, he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into a violent kiss. She tried to fight her way out, pushing and twisting her body, but to no avail. Her kicks got a reaction though, when she kneed him where the sun doesn't shine. Bill broke the kiss with his cry of pain, allowing Jo-Ann to free herself a bit more. But fear rose up in her when she saw his face. Bill hissed through his teeth, and breathed heavily through his blood covered lips… his anger was rising faster than her fear. Then he did what he knew would make her vulnerable…

He grabbed her left hand and squeezed the giant gash in her palm.

Jo-Ann screamed in agony. The razor-sharp pain spread up her arm and caused her to shrink back. But she soon gasped to find she was freed, and that Bill was being held by his collar.

"Sherlock!" she happily shouted. Indeed, there stood Sherlock, wearing his trademark black trench coat and blue scarf. But Jo-Ann found his state rather surprising… he was furious. Sherlock had Bill's shirt collar tightly grasped in his fists, nearly lifting the man off his feet. His dark curls shone in the little light that came from the street, and his eyes, although blue, seemed to radiate fire. Bill stared at him, extremely frightened. Jo-Ann, on the other hand, stared at him… in awe of his fury or his beauty, she didn't know. But nagging, exciting feeling quickly returned to her.

"If you EVER touch her again…" Sherlock's deep voice dripped with venom, "I will _end_ you." At this he released Bill, and allowed him to cowardly run back to the main entrance of the apartment building. Jo-Ann sighed with relief, and kneeled on the ground. Sherlock quickly turned around and squatted in front of her.

"Are you alright?" he asked with a furrowed brow. She breathed slowly, and couldn't help a small smile at his concern.

"I'll be fine…" she looked up at him, "just give me a few days and a restraining order form and I'll get over it." She chuckled. Sherlock let out a quick breath of relief and stood up, holding his hand out for her. She reached for him, but he quickly took her wrist and not her palm.

"You've got a nasty cut there." He said, rotating her arm to look at it. It was nasty indeed, deep and long, spreading from the bottom of her palm to the beginning on her ring finger.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, this had been the first time she looked at it. Sherlock smirked and let go of the doctor's arm.

"The paramedics will handle it. Oh and you don't need a restraining order, he'll be in prison in about two months." He said, walking calmly to the sidewalk. Jo-Ann quickly followed.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, I took a photo of his assaulting you just before I saved you and I called the police two minutes ago."

The police did arrive at Bill's apartment building, along with paramedics to treat Jo-Ann's injury, and proceeded to take Bill into custody. Sherlock, however, lead Jo-Ann out of the crime scene on his arm; saying something about Mycroft taking care of it. As they walked back to Baker Street, the doctor's questions finally surfaced.

"Sherlock… how did you know where I was?"

"Followed you."  
"The whole night?"

"Yes."

Silence followed. Jo-Ann pondered the feeling she felt, climbing down the fire escape… and the cold shivers she got at Angelo's.

"I wonder if that was you." She murmured.

"If what was me?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the woman on his arm.

"Oh! Em, never mind," She smiled up at nervously, "its not important." He nodded slightly in response, and continued to lead his doctor home.

-His-?


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! this chapter is pretty long (3,000+ words!) but i won't be updating for a little while... this chapter is about "A Scandal Belgravia" however i did add/change some little things. Enjoy! **

Chapter 3

_Blazing light and booming sounds invaded the doctor's senses. Her legs shook from the adrenaline. Running out into the bombing zone, her last route of escape… maybe is she didn't stop, if she had left that solider there_… _she wouldn't have died._

_Dr. Watson heaved the heavy body of her colleague over her shoulders and continued to run for both of their lives. Small drips of blood splashed on her uniform from the wounded soldier's leg. Bomb after bomb drifted closer and closer to her location. Her ears rang a high pitched tone and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She reached the edge of the dirt filled plain and stepped into the rocky woods. A higher ranked officer took the wounded man off of Jo-Ann's shoulders and shouted the plan of escape over the sounds of triggered explosives. Everything was a blur… running and running through dry trees and other warriors. _

_And perhaps that moment of time sealed her fate… she felt an immense pain sharply enter her body and spread across her entire being like wild fire. She gasped for air and tumbled to the uneven, rocky ground. She held her bleeding shoulder that felt like it was in pieces…_

_She had been shot._

_The pain made her nerves scream for mercy. Her head pounded and throbbed like her soul wanted to leave the body that was making it suffer. Her vision faded at a rapid pace, and her short breathes grew shorter. The last thing she saw was a man in camouflage reaching for her limp body. The life she was blessed with, and worked so hard in, could vanish in a second… because someone decided to pull the trigger._

…_Darkness…_

Jo-Ann screamed out of her dream, waking up in her bed in 221B. She inhaled all the air she could gather in panicked breaths and wiped some of the sweat from her brow. Her dark blonde hair clung to her forehead and cheeks while tears started to cloud her eyes. She needed something familiar… something to remind her of her new life, that she was still alive.

"Sherlock!" she cried out, "Sherlock!" Jo-Ann began breathing more rapidly and found her hot tears running down her face. She held her head in her shaking palms, trying to hold back her loud sobs. Quickened footsteps echoed up the stairs, and a surprised Sherlock busted through the bedroom door. Jo-Ann looked up at the worried detective who was still fully dressed in his black suit. He rushed to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. However he shifted awkwardly, not sure how to comfort the crying woman before him.

"Calm down Jo-Ann… just tell me what happened." Sherlock said slowly, gently taking her hands from her face.

"I…I-I-I" she began shakily, "I-I was back i-in afghan…Afghanistan…" she gasped. Her mouth opened to try to say more, but Sherlock shushed her with a finger. He took her into a tender hug, and stroked her messy hair.

"It's ok…" he said quietly, "You are here now. Your alive and well." He pet her head lightly and kept her in his grasp. Jo-Ann clenched his black suit jacket in both of her fists and continued to cry into his chest. Sweet cigarette scent and the warmth of the tall detective filled her senses. Sherlock had been keeping himself smoke free, but she would often find him hanging around smokers (smelling them in fact.). She sighed happily and found her breathing slow to a normal pace. They stayed like that for some time, not saying a word. Sherlock's cheeks grew hot, still holding the now quiet doctor. He cleared his throat awkwardly and Jo-Ann chuckled, pulling away from the flustered man.

"Thank you." She smiled, "You're just what I needed, Sherlock." Sherlock pondered the sentence, but just smiled back at her. His hand unconsciously caressed her face, and his voice found a new sweetness as he said,

"Get a good night's sleep Jo-Ann. I'll be downstairs if you need me…" at this, he rose off the bed, and politely exited the room.

Jo-Ann smiled happily and settled back down in her bed. And maybe instead of a nightmare, she would dream Sherlock tonight…

"_Wait…..what?"_

Jo-Ann Watson sighed in embarrassment. She was riding in a car on her way to crime scene Lestrade phoned about two hours earlier. It wasn't his case, but he said he would speak to the chief inspector. A certain Detective, however, forced her to go in his place. Apparently it had to low of a rating on the "Interest Chart" for Sherlock to even leave the flat. The car eased to a stop, allowing Jo-Ann to swiftly exit. The Chief inspector was there to great her, in his early fifties, mostly bald and looking quite confused.

"Sherlock Holmes?" he questioned, wondering if 'Sherlock' could be a woman's name. The doctor just shook his hand politely and said

"Jo-Ann Watson, and are you set up for Wi-Fi?"

Sherlock yawned comfortably, shuffling into the kitchen. His hair was only a tad messy, but he only wore a white bed sheet, wrapped around his entire body. He casually grabbed his morning coffee and walked over to his laptop on the desk, his sheet dragging lazily behind him. Voices emerged from to Skype video call that had been previously set up.

"I understand this is a bit embarrassing…" Sherlock recognized Jo-Ann's voice and adjusted the lap top correctly.

"Don't worry I'm fine." He sipped his coffee. Jo-Ann, on the other side of the video call, held camera up to her face.

"I wasn't talking about you." She blushed.

"This case is around a six and I won't leave the flat for anything lower than a seven. We agreed on it." Sherlock replied in a monotone.

"When did we agree to that?" Jo-Ann asked, pointing the camera around the body.

"We agreed on it yesterday." Said Sherlock as he peered into the screen. Jo-Ann turned that laptop around to reveal her confused face.

"I wasn't home yesterday, I was in Dublin."

"It's not my fault you weren't listening." Jo-Ann rolled her eyes. "Show me the body up close." The doctor complied, and turned her laptop to the victim in question. It was a young hiker, late twenties, with an orange beanie stained with blood.

"He was killed by a single blow to the head, yet no weapon was found. The guy that found him, Mr. Smitt, said he saw the hiker from across the field. Smitt's car backfires, he looks back at the hiker, and the hiker is dead. That's got to be an eight at least!" Jo-Ann said into the laptop. Sherlock locked the information is his mind and continued to order.

"Show me the grass." He commanded.

Jo-Ann sighed, and squatted down to hold the computer to the grass. She blushed furiously as she heard people giggling and saying things about her devotion to Sherlock. She cleared her throat and stood up; turning around to show the car that belonged to Mr. Smitt.

"That's the car that backfired?" asked Sherlock.

"Yep. What do you think?"

"Pass me over."

Jo-Ann sighed for the umpteenth time and handed the laptop over to the Chief Inspector.

"Up higher! I'm not talking from down here!" Sherlock complained.

"Remember there is a mute button and I will use it!" Jo-Ann said in an impatient tone. The Chief inspector cautiously grabbed the laptop, and shot a glance at Jo-Ann before talking to Sherlock.

"Our only lead is the man who found the body, Mr. Smitt." The bed-dressed detective laughed and resumed his serious tone.

"Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime with only himself as a witness why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fare play?" said Sherlock. The doorbell rang loudly from down the stairs, interrupting the clever man. "Shut UP!" the dark-haired-detective yelled towards the staircase.

"He thinks he's clever. It's over confidence." The Chief replied, walking up the hill leading to the main road. Sherlock sighed painfully.

"Did you see him?" he paused to take a breath, "Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict, and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy. You think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" he chuckled, turning around to face Mr. Smitt sitting in a love seat behind him. "Don't worry this is just stupid." Despite the overweight man's quiet protests, Sherlock turned back to the laptop.

"and I suppose you know what really happened?" the middle aged man asked.

"It's so obvious! Don't you see that-" a deep voice interrupted him.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlock turned around in his seat to face two large men.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked rudely.

"You're coming with us." One of the men reached down to shut the laptop, only letting Sherlock stare into the camera, confused.

"Sherlock?" Jo-Ann clicked the call button several times, trying to reconnect. "I-I can't get him back." The wind seemed to pick up as a loud buzzing grew in the background. A young man approached Jo-Ann from behind, holding a cell phone.

"Ms. Watson? It's for you."

"Thanks." She held out her hand for the phone, still trying to get Sherlock back online.

"Oh no," he laughed, "The helicopter."

Jo-Ann slowly looked up at the young man, and then towards the small pond in the middle of the field. There behold, a large black helicopter hovered over the tall grass.

A pile of Sherlock's clothes plopped onto the desk in front of him. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the strange men.

"Please Mister Holmes, where you're going you'll want to be dressed." One of the buff men ordered Sherlock. The consulting detective glanced at one of the two men.

£_700 suit, unarmed, manicured nails, office worker, right handed, indoor worker, small dog-two-three small dogs."_

"Oh I know exactly where I'm going." Sherlock smirked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After a short, rather unplanned, helicopter ride, Jo-Ann curiously wandered through Buckingham Palace. She had been told which room to go to, in an area blocked off for tourists. The doctor innocently peaked around a corner of the entrance to the small meeting area. It was a high-ceilinged room with attractive wallpaper and large windows, also with expensive architecture lining the two entrances and wall borders. Jo-Ann rigidly walked in, clenching her fists cautiously. She saw Sherlock, sitting on a beautifully designed couch wrapped only in his bed sheet. In front of him was a mahogany coffee table holding all the things necessary for tea, and a couch identical to the one he rested on. Jo-Ann met eyes with Sherlock, and motioned her confusion. Sherlock only shrugged with equal confusion and continued to stare at the wall opposite to him. The doctor quietly sat down beside him and took in her surroundings. One of which was a pile of clothes set on the coffee table in front of Sherlock. Taking a second glance at him, she didn't see any sign of a shirt around his neck or partially revealed chest. She blushed as she leaned towards him, trying to find evidence of him wearing _any_ clothes underneath the sheet. Her brow furrowed as she looked at anything but him and asked,

"Are you wearing any pants?"

"No."

"Ok."

After a moment of silence, the two glanced at each other… causing both to burst into laughter. Sherlock's deep laugh mixed with Jo-Ann's soft giggles.

"Buckingham palace… right… I am seriously fighting the urge to steal an ash tray." Sherlock laughed at his doctors joke as she shook her head.

"Why are we here... Sherlock, what are we doing here?" She said with a smile. Sherlock, still smiling as well and replied,

"I don't know…"

"We here to see queen?" Jo-Ann asked jokingly. Just then, Mycroft strolled in the second entrance of the room.

"Ah, apparently yes." Said Sherlock. The flatmates burst into another round of laughter as a very un-amused Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Just for once, can you two act like grown-ups?" he said in an annoyed tone.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold onto much hope." Jo-Ann said with a small chuckle.

"I was in the middle of a case Mycroft." Said Sherlock.

"You mean the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious." Mycroft said casually.

"Transparent." Sherlock replied coldly. Jo-Ann just furrowed her brow… she accepted the fact that she would never understand the Holmes brothers long ago.

"Time to move on then." Mycroft sighed, and picked up the pile of clothes on the coffee table. Turning to his baby brother, he said

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation…" his tone changed to one of extreme command, "Sherlock Holmes, put on your trousers."

"What for?" Sherlock asked innocently, ignoring his brother's tone.

"For your client."

"And my client is?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Illustrious, in the extreme." A man entering the room interrupted the detective. He was a tall man, with blonde hair and an expensive suit. He looked like he was in his fifties. Jo-Ann stood up politely. "And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous." The man was standing by them now, smiling in a friendly manner. "Mycroft" He smiled.

"Eric." Mycroft replied happily, setting down Sherlock's clothes and shaking Eric's hand. "I must apologize for the state of my little brother."

Jo-Ann hide her small smile… not many people ever got a good first impression of Sherlock.

"Full time occupation, I imagine." Eric said in a questionable tone. Sherlock only glared at him, as Jo-Ann shook his hand politely. "and this must be Doctor Jo-Ann Watson, formally of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers."

"Yes, hello." Jo-Ann replied.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Her jaw dropped a bit, and she quickly asked:

"Your employer?"

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch." Eric remarked. Jo-Ann looked at Sherlock, and cleared her throat in a way that said "I told you people read my blog", and turned back to Eric.

"And Mister Holmes, the younger." Eric walked over to Sherlock. "You look taller in your photographs." He said with a teasing tone.

"I took the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Sherlock replied in his low, serious voice. Jo-Ann looked offended, and was about to speak up when Sherlock continued. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery on one end of my cases, both ends is too must work. Good morning." The detective nodded to Eric and began to take his leave. Mycroft, however, stepped on the dragging sheet… the sheet quickly dropped off of Sherlock, yet being caught by the younger brother before anything could be revealed. Jo-Ann just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Of all the places Sherlock had to be naked, it was in Buckingham Palace with a lady present.

"This is a matter of national importance… grow up!" Mycroft said in a firm voice.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Or what?" Mycroft tempted.

"Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock threatened. The idea of Sherlock walking around the Palace naked was a very possible one.

"I'll let you."

"Children! Please not here!" Jo-Ann scolded. However Sherlock ignored her and continued to have his tantrum.

"Who. Is. My. CLIENT?"

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. No for God's sake!-" Mycroft said a bit too loudly, "Put your clothes on!" he said more quietly. Sherlock was about to protest once more when Jo-Ann intervened.

"Please, Sherlock…"

The half-naked man inhaled a slow painful breath…

Jo-Ann and a now clothed Sherlock sat on one couch, while Mycroft and Eric sat on the other. Tension thickened in the air surrounding Sherlock, showing his obvious bad mood.

"I'll be mother." Mycroft said happily, pouring tea into small cups.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock teased. Jo-Ann hid her smile as Mycroft glared at his little brother. Finished with preparing the tea, the older Holmes sat back in his chair.

"My client has a problem." Eric began. Mycroft continued,

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature. And in this hour of need, dear brother," he forced a smile, "your name has arisen."

"Why? You have a police force of sorts." Sherlock replied coldly. "Even a marginally secret service, why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't the mister Holmes?" said Eric. His voice sounded as if full of innocence, but both Sherlock and Jo-Ann knew that wasn't true.

"This is a matter of high security, therefore of trust." Mycroft said.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" Jo-Ann asked, speaking up for the first time sense the sheet incident.

"Naturally not," Mycroft replied casually, "They all spy on people for money." Jo-Ann smirked at this truth and continued to listen.

"I do believe we have a time table." Eric warned. Sherlock eyed him curiously.

"Yes, of course." Mycroft reached for a briefcase beside the couch and placed it on his lap. Pulling out a large photo he asked, "What do you know about this woman?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sherlock held a large photo in his hands of a woman… A very beautiful woman in fact. The picture was full of darkness, with only enough light to show the woman's face. She looked like she was in her thirties, with dark red color on her well-shaped lips. Her rich, brown hair pulled back into a bun, with strands tucked behind her ears and curling perfectly at the ends. Her blue eyes gleamed with hidden secrets, surrounded with brown eyeliner that complimented her well.

"I know nothing about her whatsoever." Sherlock said to Mycroft.

"Then you should be paying more attention." The older brother replied. "She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist… by having an affair with both participants, separately." Mycroft said with notable distaste for the woman.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked, still looking at the picture.

"Irene Adler."

A black car slowed to a stop in front of a large white mansion. The driver, a young blonde woman, promptly exited the vehicle and walked around to let her passenger out. Ms. Irene Adler stepped out of the car, gracefully nodding to the young driver. She wore a white, short sleeve dress, complimenting her curves. Her silky hair tied up in a bun with luxurious waves along her head. She loosely held her black fur coat in one arm, and with the other, read new text messages on her small cell phone.

"_I'm sending you a treat." _Was the first text, from a blocked number. The following messages where images sent from the same number.

"She is professionally known as 'the woman'." Mycroft continued.

"Professionally?" Jo-Ann asked, peaking at the photo.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers… Dominatrix."

The woman scrolled through the photos that were sent to her phone. The first was of Sherlock, exiting 221B dressed in his bed sheet. The second was of his face, up close, showing off his shining curls and muscular neck. A few more followed, scenes of him walking around or sitting in police cars. She smiled affectionately at her phone, stroking her thumb over the screen.

"Dominatrix…" Sherlock repeated quietly.

"Don't be alarmed. It has to do with sex." Mycroft explained.

"Sex doesn't alarm me." The detective remarked. Jo-Ann withheld her chuckle although her mind was dying of laughter.

"How would you know?" Mycroft smiled evilly. Sherlock looked up at his brother offended, and quickly resumed his glare.

"She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding…for those who enjoy that sort of thing, and are prepared to pay for it." Mycroft pulled out more photos out of the briefcase, and handed them to Sherlock. "These are all from her website." Sherlock grabbed the photos from him and began scanning them. The first one was Irene holding a rope tightly in her hands and biting it seductively. To the left of the picture was bold, red letters that said _"The Woman. Know when you are beaten."_ Sherlock flipped over to the second picture, with the woman dressed in a skin tight tan and black laced dress, with a list of pleasure options to the right. The third was a picture of her back, revealing her slim backbone and her outfit of nothing but black lace underwear… a continued list of options to the left. Jo-Ann blushed furiously at the photos, and looked at Sherlock, who was completely un-fazed.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?" he asked calmly.

"Very quick, Mister Holmes." Eric remarked.

"Hardly a difficult deduction." Sherlock replied. "Photographs of whom?" he questioned. Eric looked nervously at Mycroft, and back at the young detective.

"A person of significance to my employer, we prefer not to say anything more at this time."

"You can't tell us anything?" Jo-Ann pressed, as Sherlock placed the woman photos on the coffee table. There was a long pause before Mycroft answered.

"I can tell you it's a young person. A young female person." Jo-Ann quietly sipped her tea and waited for Sherlock to continue his deducing. Sherlock smiled at this new information and asked:

"How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently." Mycroft smiled painfully.

"Do Miss Adler and this 'young female person' appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock continued

"Yes, they do." The older Holmes replied instantly.

"Then I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

A small pause followed, broken by Sherlock speaking to his doctor.

"Jo-Ann you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now." Jo-Ann looked at her cup, then back at Sherlock, and placed the tea down with a small clang… realizing she had been in shock for quite some time.

"Can you help us, Mister Holmes?" Eric asked politely.

"How?" Sherlock countered.

"Can you take the case?"

"What case? Pay here. Now and in full. As Miss Adler remarked in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten'." He wasn't about to take a case he wasn't interested in without being paid. Sherlock reached for his coat on the arm of the chair, when his brother caught his attention.

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft smiled. He knew what intrigued his little brother. "She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort neither money nor favor." Sherlock looked in surprise… this was getting interesting…

"Oh… a power play." Sherlock breathed. Yes, this was interesting. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain… now that is a dominatrix- oh this is getting rather fun isn't it?" Sherlock said happily.

"Sherlock…" Jo-Ann warned.

"Hm. Where is she?" the detective asked, grabbing his coat.

"In London, currently. She's staying-"

"Text me the details." Sherlock interrupted, getting up from the couch and walking to the exit. Jo-Ann followed closely. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" asked Eric, standing along with Mycroft.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs." Sherlock replied turning around and putting on his coat.

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." Eric warned. Sherlock smirked and looked at various places on the man's body.

"_dog lover, horse rider, public schooled, early riser, left side of the bed, father, non-smoker, half-welsh, keen reader, tea drinker…" _he thought instantly.

"He is that good." Jo-Ann said with all seriousness. Sherlock smiled at her and turned to Mycroft.

"I'll need some equipment of course."

"Anything you require I will have it sent over." Mycroft replied simply.

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock asked Eric, who looked at him puzzled. "Or your lighter, either will do."

"I don't smoke."

"I know you don't, but your employer does." Eric looked at the young man with wide eyes displaying his shock and worry.

"We have… successfully kept a lot of people in the dark…" he replied, handing Sherlock a box of matches, "about this little fact, Mister Holmes."

"I'm not the common wealth." The detective replied.

"And that's as modest as he gets- pleasure to meet you!" Jo-Ann said awkwardly, and proceeded to follow Sherlock out the door. Sherlock called back to the two men, standing in silence behind him,

"Laters!"

"Okay… the smoking… how did you know?" Jo-Ann asked as she and Sherlock rode in a cab to 221B Baker Street.

"The evidence was right under your nose Jo-Ann." He stated simply, "As ever you see, but do not observe."

"Like what?" she asked.

"An ashtray." Sherlock pulled out said object out of his coat pocket and tossed it in the air playfully. Jo-Ann laughed out loud, shaking her head as Sherlock joined her with his deep chuckle. Her giggles subsided as she just stared at the detective next to her… how handsome he was…

His curly, dark brown hair shone in the afternoon sun that pierced the windows of the cab… Those sharp, blue eyes staring at random objects or through peoples very souls as they passed by. His alabaster skin looked so soft yet mysterious in some way. Everything about Sherlock Holmes was unique and exciting… so different that a person could be either intrigued and curious… or intimidated and frightened. Jo-Ann had been staring so intently, however, that she didn't notice Sherlock was staring right back… and she had moved considerably closer…

"Jo-Ann?" he asked, more nervous than he intended to let on. Jo-Ann felt a sudden rush of excitement at the sound of his voice… then the embarrassment sunk in. She muttered excuses as she flung herself back to her side of the cab.

"I-I'm so sorry! I thought I—…there's… something on your face!" she managed to squeak out. Blush claimed her face in its bright red radiance, which didn't help her excuse to seem true.

"oh?" Sherlock asked innocently, wiping his mouth and nose with his slender hand.

"Err you got it! Its…its good…" Jo-Ann muttered, staring intently at her hands on her knees, face still burning red. Sherlock said thanks, but secretly smiled at his doctor's behavior.

Various photographs captured the moment from a distance, and were instantly sent to the phone of Ms. Irene Adler. She smiled at the photos, zooming in on Sherlock's handsome face… then on Jo-Ann's. Her smile instantly turned to a sneer as she looked at the doctor's pixelated expression. Jealousy cast a shadow over the woman, telling her that Jo-Ann had a head start on winning the detective's affections.

"Well then…" she whispered to herself, "I'll have to catch up." Irene delicately placed her phone on a small table beside her, and walked over to a closed window, covered in white drapery.

"Kate!" she called in her smooth, feminine voice. The young woman driver walked into Adler's bedroom wearing a high-waist pencil skirt and white blouse. "We're going to have a visitor." The dominatrix told her. "I'll need a bit of time to get ready." She said, sitting down at a small table with three mirrors and various make-up supplies rested upon.

"A long time." Kate corrected from the doorway.

"Ages." Irene agreed, taking off her earrings.

She opened the doors to her walk-in closet, only wearing a green silk robe. Running her fingers along the many outfits, she tried to make up her mind on which to wear.

At 221B, Jo-Ann sipped her tea while standing in the kitchen, when she heard the sound of clothes hitting the wall behind her. She turned to see different shirts and pants fly by the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"Going to battle, Jo-Ann!" he called, "I need the right armor!" Jo-Ann furrowed her brow and walked over to the doorway. Her eyes widened as she tried to hold back her laughter. Sherlock was turning in the mirror to view his fireman's jacket from all angles.

"Nope." He stated, promptly taking it off and resuming to rummage through his dresser drawers.

"No." Ms. Adler said, looking at her reflection disapprovingly. She wore a skin-tight navy sequin dress that cut off above the knees.

"It looks sexy." Kate commented from the doorway.

"Everything looks sexy to you." Adler replied, turning in the mirror once again.

"So what's the plan?" Jo-Ann asked, in a cab to a destination chosen by her detective.

"We know her address." Sherlock replied.

"We just ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly." He stated, "Just here, please." He said to the cabbie.

"You didn't even change your clothes." Jo-Ann said confused, staring at the strange man next to her.

"I was trying to add a splash of color." Sherlock said as if it wasn't a joke.

Sherlock and Jo-Ann exited the cab in one of the many alleyways of London. This one, however, was very close to the dominatrix's home. The detective removed his scarf and walked in a circle until he faced Jo-Ann.

"We're here?" she asked.

"Uh, two streets away, but this will do." Sherlock replied, jumping up and down as if to pump up his blood.

"Go on…" the doctor was still clueless.

"Punch me in the face." Sherlock motioned, bracing for impact.

"Shape?" Kate asked, gently applying lipstick to Irene's soft lips.

"Blunt." She replied.

"Punch you?" Jo-Ann asked, pointing out its ridiculousness.

"Yes, punch me in the face! Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock countered as if she were stupid.

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when your speaking, but it's usually subtext." She said in all seriousness.

"Oh for God's sake-" Sherlock said impatiently as he slapped Jo-Ann with enough force to make her stumble. As she gathered her bearings, he sniffed and prepared for the returning strike. He felt a bit guilty for hitting his doctor, but he also knew she was type of girl to fight back. Jo-Ann stood up straight, anger clearly written on her face as she winded her arm to deliver the blow. A solid punch crushed Sherlock in the cheek, causing him to fall to the ground with the unexpected force. He quickly got up, holding his left cheek as Jo-Ann inspected her knuckles.

"Thank you—that was-that was-" he tried to speak, but was interrupted by a screaming Jo-Ann tackling him to the ground. Sherlock let out a grunt of pain as he tried to wrestle Jo-Ann off him. He temporarily got free from the ferocious woman long enough to stand up. However she leapt onto his back and wrapped her arm around his neck in a headlock.

"I think we've done enough Jo-Ann!" Sherlock said, trying to break Jo-Ann's grip. "I was in the army. I was a solider. I kill people." She mumbled through gritted teeth.

"You were a doctor!" he tried to reason.

"I HAD BAD DAYS!" she yelled, swinging both of them back to the ground.

"What are you going to wear?" Kate asked Irene, finishing with the woman's make-up.

"My battle dress." Irene replied.

"Ooh, Lucky boy!" Kate said playfully. A doorbell interrupted them, causing them to both look at the doorway.

Kate proceeded downstairs, and talked through the doors intercom.

"Hello?" she greeted.

"Um yes! Hello! I was… I was wondering if you could help me!" Sherlock said nervous and panicked through the intercom. He was a brilliant actor when he needed to be. "I've just been attacked! They took my phone… and my wallet…" he continued, sounding as if he were going to cry.

"You can use the phone to call the police if you like." Kate played along.

"Oh! That would be wonderful! Thank you so much!" Sherlock replied. The door buzzed open, letting a panicked Sherlock and confused Jo-Ann enter the mansion.

"I-I saw the whole thing happen." Jo-Ann explained to Kate, "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen." Kate motioned. She then showed Sherlock to the living room, giving him a handkerchief to hold to his cut cheek. The room was lavished in white décor and crystal accessories, all expensive and new. Sherlock settled onto the large cream couch opposite the fireplace and dropped the act as soon as Kate left. He inspected the room, but couldn't find anything unusual from a distance.

"I was sorry to hear you've been hurt." An elegant voice called from outside the room, "I don't think Kate caught your name?" Sherlock quickly put the handkerchief back to his cheek to resume his character.

"I'm so sorry, I'm-" he began, turning to the doorway, but was instantly silenced by the sight of the very beautiful, yet very _naked_ Irene Adler.


	5. Chapter 5

**I am soooooooo sorry for taking so long! I had a lot of things happen all at once... you know how it goes. so i give to you chapter 4 (which you just read) and chapter 5 :D please enjoy, rate, and review! **

Chapter 5

Sherlock stared at "the Woman" before him, frozen on the spot. She was as beautiful as her photograph, if not more… yet he did wish she had clothes on. Keep his eyes on her face; he watched her walk over to him.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember how to pretend when you've had a fright. Isn't it?" she stood in front of him now, not even attempting to cover up. His eyes didn't leave hers. "Well, there now…" she purred, pushing him back into the couch. "We're both defrocked, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She tilted her head.

"Ms. Adler, I presume?" Sherlock asked, unfazed.

"Look at those cheekbones…" She cooed, "I could cut myself slapping that face." Sherlock only started into her eyes, slightly confused. "Would you like me to try?" she asked seductively. She placed a hand on the back of the couch, leaning closer to him, almost to make him stare at her body. However, he did not.

"Right this should do it…" Jo-Ann said, walking into the doorway with a bowl of warm water and a napkin. She instantly stopped at the sight of a naked woman almost atop her detective. Her eyes did a quick once-over on the woman, then Sherlock, who were both looking at her. Anger rose up in the pit of her heart for an unknown reason as her face reddened a bit.

"I missed something, haven't I?" the doctor asked after an awkward pause.

"Please, sit down." Adler replied, moving away from Sherlock, who took a noticeable breath of relief. "Oh, if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid."

"_She's rambling on as if nothing's wrong!"_ Jo-Ann thought angrily.

"I had some at the palace." Sherlock stated, looking at anything but her.

"I know." She countered, sitting in a love seat to the right of the couch. She sat cross-legged, folding her arms in a feminine manner. Sherlock only stared at her, curiously.

"I had tea too… at the palace." Jo-Ann said awkwardly, trying to make everything a little more normal. "If anyone is interested…"

Sherlock had tuned out any sound, however, as he stared at Ms. Adler. All the necessary areas of her body were covered, so he didn't feel guilty as her tried to deduce her. But to his confusion, he couldn't find any information about her. He glanced at Jo-Ann to see if it was his mind that was in default.

"_Two day shirt, new lipstick, date tonight, hasn't phoned sister, new toothbrush, night out with Mike Stamford."_ He thought. Jo-Ann only looked at him, wondering why he has staring.

"_Date tonight? Night out with Stamford? Since when does she spend nights at bars with Stamford? That bas-"_His angry thoughts silenced themselves, wondering where his anger came slowly looked back at Irene… nothing.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" she interrupted his thoughts. He raised his eyebrows at her, mockingly awaiting her answer. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power... In your case it's yourself." She countered. He only looked at her sternly. "Somebody loves you…" she began, leaning forward in her chair. Jo-Ann's eyes darted to Sherlock. "Why, if I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." The Dominatrix stated, looking over to Jo-Ann. the doctor tried to suppress her blush.

"I don't love him!" she blurted out. Sherlock instantly switched his gaze to Jo-Ann, eyes a bit wide in shock.

"_What… did she say?..."_ the voice inside asked himself. She noticed his look and the blush took control of her face.

"C-Could you put something on please?" Jo-Ann turned to the naked woman, desperate to change the subject. "Uh anything at all… a napkin?" she asked, holding a corner of the napkin towards Irene.

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" she asked, smiling. The woman obviously didn't care about the gender of the doctor.

"Jo-Ann is a female doctor, I'm sure she has seen naked people before. Any attempts to get you covered up are probably for my sake." Sherlock said in an instant, standing and holding his coat to Irene.

"Oh never mind," Irene said, putting on Sherlock's dark trench coat, "We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me, I need to know…" she sat down on the couch. "How was it done?" her black high heels were removed to appear more comfortable.

"What?" Sherlock asked, standing in the middle of the living room. Jo-Ann looked over to Irene, relieved that she was now clothed.

"The hiker, with the bashed in head… how was he killed?" Irene continued.

"That's…not why I'm here…" Sherlock said slowly.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen. So since we're here chatting anyway…" she baffled the doctor and detective.

"That story hasn't been on the news yet… how do you know about it?" Jo-Ann asked, sitting on the couch next to Irene.

"I know one of the policemen-well I know what he likes anyway." The woman stated, referring to her line of work.

"Oh…" Jo-Ann set the bowl she had been holding on the coffee table in front of the couch. "And you… like policemen?"

"I like detective stories and detectives." She smiled at Sherlock. Jo-Ann felt a lump form in her throat. "Brainy is the new sexy." The woman continued while Jo-Ann found herself unconsciously smiling in agreeing with her statement.

"Busyness-uh-business with the car relative to the hiker…" both Jo-Ann and Irene quickly looked up at Sherlock, quite surprised with his mistake in speech, "at the time of the backfire. The fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that's all you need to know." He stated, pacing.

"Okay, tell me, how was he murdered?" Irene asked seriously.

"He wasn't."

"You don't think it was a murder?"

"I know it wasn't." Sherlock stated in a matter-of-fact way.

"How?" Irene kept questioning.

"The same way that I know that the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel, and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?" Irene still watched the detective intently, while Jo-Ann knew what he was up to.

"So they are in this room? Thank you." Sherlock said with evil delight as Irene's face formed into a look of shock. "Jo-Ann, man the door, let no one in." Jo-Ann nodded in response, and proceeded as told. The door clicked shut, and she looked around the hallway. Reaching for a newspaper, she rolled it up, and grabbed a lighter from her pocket.

Back in the living room, Sherlock continued.

"Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart, and one car." He said, still pacing with his hands behind his back.

"Oh, I-I thought you were looking for the photos now." Irene relaxed.

"No, no. looking takes ages… I'm just going to find them." Sherlock stated, looking into the mirror above the fireplace. "I think you're moderately clever, and we've got a moment so let's pass the time…" The scene around them changed to the crime scene of the hiker and the backfire as Sherlock reenacted the scene. "The two men, a car, and nobody else. Driver's trying to fix his engine… getting nowhere. And the hiker is taking a moment, looking at the sky, watching the birds." Sherlock walked over to the imagination form of the hiker. The cream couch and Irene Adler joined his vision. "Any moment now, something is going to happen, what?" Sherlock asked Irene.

"The hiker is going to die." She stated simply.

"No that's the _result_. What's going to _happen_?" Sherlock asked impatiently, pacing circles around the frozen image of the hiker.

"I don't understand."

"Oh well try to."

"Why?" she asked the clever detective.

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think." Sherlock replied coldly. "What's the use-?"

"The car is going to backfire." Irene attempted the answer.

"There is going to be a loud noise." He continued.

"So what?"

"Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything… for instance…" the vision of the crime scene abruptly ended at the sound of the smoke alarm. Outside the living room, Jo-Ann waved a smoking newspaper in the air, causing the alarm to trigger. Irene looked over to the door, then quickly to the mirror above the fireplace. Sherlock followed her quick gaze and replied in a clever voice,

"Thank you."

Irene remained silent, looking back at Sherlock.

"When hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." He finished, walking over to the mirror and running his hand under the ledge of the mantle. Finding a small button, he pushed in forcefully. The mirror whirred mechanical noises as it lifted from its place, revealing a number coded safe. Irene rose from her seat, almost frozen.

"I really hope you don't have a baby in here." Sherlock joked with his dry humor. "Alright Jo-Ann, you can turn it off now." The smoke alarm continued. "I said you can turn if off now!" Sherlock called, staring at the safe.

"Give me a minute!" Jo-Ann replied through the door, smacking the smoking newspaper on a nearby table. However the alarm was abruptly silenced with a gunshot.

"hm… you should always use gloves with these kind of things you know…" Sherlock began, as Irene smirked at him from behind. "Heavy cell depositories on the first key used, that's quite clearly a three… But after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. A six digit code… it can't be your birthday. No disrespect but you were obviously born in the eighties and the eight is barley used…"

"I'll tell you the code right now." Irene walked over to the window as Sherlock turned around. "You know what? I already have." She smiled. It was his turn to be confused. "Think." She mocked.

The door busted open not a moment later. Three men, all armed and in black suits rushed in, with one of them holding Jo-Ann.

"Hands behind your head. On the floor. Keep it still." Their leader said with an American voice. The leader was balding, in his forties, yet fit enough to be thirty.

"Sorry Sherlock!" Jo-Ann apologized, kneeling on the ground like the man said.

"Miss Adler, on the floor!" the leader ordered. Irene was forcefully kneeled as Sherlock raised his hands behind his head.

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" he asked calmly.

"No sir, I'd like you to open the safe." The man ordered.

"I don't know the code. She never told me."

"You've been listening, she said she told you." The man had a gun pointed at Sherlock, but the detective wasn't worried about that… he was worried about the gun pointed at Jo-Ann.

"Well if you've been listening, you'd know she didn't." he countered.

"I assuming I've missed something, however due to your reputation, I'm assuming you _didn't_ Mr. Holmes."

"For God's sake! She's the one who knows the code, ask her!" Jo-Ann interrupted, tilting her head to Irene. Even when being threatened, she couldn't remain silent.

"Yes ma'am, but she is also the one who knows the code to automatically call the police. I've learned not to trust this woman." The man's eyes never left Sherlock. Irene tried to speak,

"Mr. Holmes doesn't-"

"Shut up!" the man ordered. "One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate these walls with the insides of your head. That, for me, would not be hardship." Irene remained silent. "Mr. Archer," the man began, "on the count of three… shoot Dr. Watson!"

"What?!" Jo-Ann asked, while the man behind her pressed the edge on his gun into her neck. Sherlock felt immense panic wash over him.

"I don't know the code." he replied in a fraction of a second.

"One."

"I don't know the code!"

"Two."

"She didn't tell me! I don't KNOW IT!" Sherlock said with increasing worry and anger. He looked at Jo-Ann with his heart beating faster than it should.

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." The man opened his mouth to say the final number. Sherlock darted his eyes to Irene, who looked down at the coat covering her.

"Three-"

"No! STOP!" Sherlock yelled. The man held up his hand to stop the gunman, just before the trigger was fully pulled. Jo-Ann closed her eyes and took a short breath of relief. However the gunman still had a gun to her head… Sherlock slowly turned around to the safe, and began to decipher the code. His doctor's life was on the line..

"_32… 24…34…"_ he entered. The safe hissed a sound of successful access. Both Sherlock and Jo-Ann relaxed a little.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes, open it please." The man ordered, unfazed. Sherlock grabbed the circular latch and twisted it, fully unlocking the small door. Before swinging it open, Sherlock glanced at Irene.

"African Cameos." He stated his keyword loudly, swinging the door open, and ducking. A gun from within the safe fired out the wall, triggered by a string pulled by the safe door. The bullet hit the gunman behind Jo-Ann, square in the chest as the doctor ducked. Sherlock proceeded to take down the leader with a series of punches and stealing his gun away. Irene elbowed the gunman behind her and flipped him over her shoulder. Both the women stole the guns away from the gunman and pointed them at said men. In a flash, all the gunman, including their leader, were unconscious. Jo-Ann checked the vitals of the gunman who was shot.

"He's dead." She sighed.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. You were very… observant." Irene purred.

"Observant?" Jo-Ann questioned.

"I'm flattered." She said to Sherlock, ignoring the doctor.

"Don't be." Sherlock replied coldly.

"Flattered?" Jo-Ann questioned again.

"There'll be more of them, they'll be keeping an eye on the building." The detective ignored the doctor and ran out of the room. She unconsciously followed, leaving Irene to point a gun at three unconscious men.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Irene lowered her stolen gun, and ran over to the open safe. She stared in worry and shock at the empty safe. Empty…

"_Shit." _She cursed in her mind.

"We should call the police!" Jo-Ann called to Sherlock as they both ran out the door.

"Yes." Sherlock stepped off the porch and fired five bullets into the air. "On their way." He said calmly.

"For God's sake." Jo-Ann silently complained.

"Oh shut up. It's quick." Sherlock said, walking back into the house. He stopped in the doorway, however, leaving Jo-Ann to walk ahead and turn around to face him.

"You alright?" she questioned. Sherlock tilted the gun in his hands, and looked up at her with a hint of concern. Her boot cut jeans curved and framed her legs… and her dark blonde hair pulled back into a small ponytail so elegantly.

"I em…. I'm glad….. You're safe…" he mumbled. He cursed himself for sounding so idiotic, although she already knew he wasn't good with _feelings_. She smiled brightly at him, walking rather quickly towards her detective.

"I'm glad you're so brilliant Mr. Holmes." Jo-Ann beamed. Sherlock felt a small hitch in his breath and quickly changed the subject.

"Check the rest of the house, see how they got in." he told Jo-Ann as he walked back into the living room. Irene turned and walked to him with increasing anger. "Well that's the money in the bank." He said, taking a small camera phone out of his suit and tossing it in the air.

"Oh, and that's mine." Irene said nervously, holding out her hand. Sherlock ignored her and turned on the phone. On the black screen it read

"I am

Locked."

"All the photographs are on here, I presume?" Sherlock asked.

"I have copies of course."

"No you don't."

Silence fell upon as Irene stared at him angrily. Although she didn't think so, that expression was rather attractive on her.

"That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes." She stomped over to him, "I'd die before I'd let you take it." She held out her hand for the phone, but Sherlock only stared in return. "It's my protection." For a short time, he considered it… protection? How interesting…

"Sherlock!" Jo-Ann called. At the sound of her voice, Sherlock tightened his grip on the cell phone, and stated,

"It _was _your protection." He walked out of the room, leaving Irene to follow.

Jo-Ann kneeled over Kate in Ms. Adler's bedroom, trying to sense breath coming out of her mouth and checking her pulse. She sighed and rose from her position. She peaked around one of the doorways, checking for anymore gunman or a sign of a break-in. Sherlock entered through the second door with Irene in tow.

"They must have come in this way." Jo-Ann told Sherlock.

"Clearly." Sherlock replied. Irene walked over to Kate, worried.

"Don't worry, she's just out cold." Jo-Ann reassured. Irene nodded and ordered,

"There's a back door, better check it, Dr. Watson." She said with exceeded venom it seemed to Jo-Ann. She glanced at Sherlock, and seeing his approval, she proceeded to leave the room. As she exited the room, she fought the growing emotion of wanting to stay by her detective's side. Irene walked over to a white desk in front of two large windows, and reached into the top drawer, grabbing a small object.

"You're quite calm." Sherlock broke the silence. She turned her head to face him. "Well your booby trap did just kill a man." He reasoned, looking at the camera phone in his hands.

"He would have killed me." Irene replied, walking over to the slim detective. "It was self-defense in advance." She ran her hand down his shoulder. He looked at her curiously, but was interrupted by a searing pain in the opposite shoulder. He let out a short grunt of pain, and whirled around to look at the infected area.

"What-what is that? What?" he stuttered, yanking out a small needle from his arm. He turned around to her, only to be met with a hard slap to the face. He fell back on the ground and felt the cut in his cheek bleed once again.

"Give it to me! Now." Irene said, trying not to sound as panicked as she was. Sherlock's vision swarmed, everything was turning into a blur… "Give it to me."

"No." He mustered, trying to stand up with a small level of success.

"Give it to me!" She repeated.

"N..no!" He stumbled, landing on his hands and knees. He looked around for a security, something still. But the whole room spun around him.

"Oh for God's sake!" Irene complained, reaching for her riding crop. She bent it back in her hands, threating to strike. "Drop it!" Sherlock ignored her and still tried to get up. "I" she smacked the riding crop against his face, "said" she lashed out again, "Drop it!" she delivered the final blow. Sherlock slammed his back into the ground, lying flat and finding himself paralyzed. The phone fell out of his hand… "Ah! Thank you, dear!" she cooed, quickly grabbing the phone. "now… tell that sweet 'young female person' the pictures are safe with me. Not for blackmail… just for insurance. Besides, I might want to her again." Sherlock stared blankly, trying to process everything happening. He struggled all his muscles to try to sit up… his arms wouldn't respond. "Oh no, no, no." she cooed, pushing the riding crop against his neck. "It's been a pleasure," she smiled, "don't spoil it." Irene caressed his face with the edge of the object. "This is how I want you to remember me…" Her voiced echoed through the detective's mind as she pet his face with the leather edge of the riding crop. "…The woman who beat you…"

Sherlock moved his face against the leather; it was the only still thing in the room. "Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She whispered, slowly walking away from him.

"Jesus… what have you done?!" Jo-Ann shouted, entering the room.

"He'll sleep for a few hours." Irene called, walking into the next room. "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, it makes for a very unattractive course." Jo-Ann picked up the empty needle next to Sherlock.

"What's this?- what have you given him?!" She yelled with increasing anger. Sherlock rolled in pain, a high pitch ring piercing through his ears. "Sherlock?" Jo-Ann knelt to his side. Irene sat on a window sill, visible from the doctor's view.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry; I've used it on plenty of my friends."

"Sherlock can you hear me?" Jo-Ann ignored the Dominatrix and cupped Sherlock's face in her hands. The detective tried to focus on Jo-Ann's worried face, but everything was only becoming more blurry.

"I was wrong about him." Irene stated. The doctor turned her head to her, but still held onto Sherlock. "He did know where to look."

"For what? What are you talking about?" she didn't know why, but Jo-Ann's face grew hotter.

"The key code to my safe." Irene replied, still holding her riding crop.

"What was it?" Jo-Ann asked nervously. Sherlock rolled to his side, trying to look at Ms. Adler.

"Shall I tell her?" Irene asked Sherlock. He mumbled his objections, but none could be understood. Sirens grew in the background as Jo-Ann darted her head from Sherlock to Irene, who finally gave the answer.

"My measurements."

Jo-Ann gasped as Irene fell backwards out the open window. She rushed over to the make-shift exit and looked for Ms. Adler. Gone.

Sherlock's whole world spun around, pounding at the same time. He attempted to sit up, but to no avail. Jo-Ann came into his vision, looking extremely worried through the blur of his eyes. He felt her small hands on his face and chest, checking his vitals.

"_Sherlock?"…."Sherlock? Are you alright?"…._

All sounds faded out of his senses, the only thing he could so was stare at the lips that were trying to speak to him.

Jo-Ann shook Sherlock gently, trying to awaken his senses. She heard the front door burst open, and Lestrade's voice giving orders. She ignored it. It was only when the detective inspector grabbed her shoulder that she turned around.

"Jo-Ann! What happened?" he asked, full of concern. Jo-Ann explained everything to him, not leaving Sherlock's side as they successfully loaded him on a stretcher and into an ambulance. Lestrade and Jo-Ann sat on either side of Sherlock in the ambulance, awaiting any change in his condition. The one to break the silence, unexpectedly, was Sherlock himself.

"Jo-Ann…" he groaned, turning as much as he could towards her. Jo-Ann perked up, but gently laid him back down.

"Easy Sherlock… just rest." She said in an almost motherly voice, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

"Did I ever tell you…" Sherlock breathed, in a loopy manner, "that you have a pretty face?"

Awkward silence followed. Jo-Ann's cheeks lite aflame as she tried to reply… or even understand… not knowing that Lestrade was holding his phone at a higher angle than usual.

"I-I have a what?..." she managed to stutter out.

"A pretty face~" he repeated, sounding babyish. "I like your nose the best…" Sherlock cooed, placing a finger on the tip of her nose. "It's so cute!"

Jo-Ann only stared in disbelief… complete and utter disbelief. Was this actually the same man that could single-handedly crush someone's body and soul if he chose to? Her face grew even hotter when she realized Lestrade was filming on his phone.

"Are you recording this?!" She shouted.

"No." Lestrade lied. Sherlock turned over to face him, smiling madly.

"Heyy! It's him!" Sherlock giggled, "Hey…. _You_!" he greeted.

"Hello Sherlock!" Lestrade greeted back, playing along with the detective's behavior.

"Do you believe in magic Jo-Ann?~" Sherlock asked, looking back at the woman still holding his hand.

"M…Magic?" she asked.

"Yeah! Magic! You know, that stuff that happens when I hear you laugh!" he continued in his baby voice.

"When… I laugh?..." she looked at him in all sincerity, what did he mean?

"When I hear you laugh, my belly feels all ticklish." Jo-Ann giggled a bit at his childish words. "And the room lights up where ever you stand." She felt surprised to feel his cool, slender hand rest upon her cheek. Sherlock's eyes softened, blush being present of his face for one of the few times since they met. "Magic."

Jo-Ann felt her heart race, and warm up at the same time, feeling Sherlock stroke his thumb against her cheek. Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly, snapping Jo-Ann out of her trance.

The ambulance arrived at 221B Baker Street, after much convincing by Jo-Ann that Sherlock only needed rest. Sherlock was carried into the flat on a stretcher, calling the people he knew "_you_" or "champ". It seemed Jo-Ann was the only person he remembered. YouTube would be graced with the hilarious video of Sherlock singing "_Magic_" uploaded the next day.

Jo-Ann thanked the paramedics as they left Sherlock's bedroom, and walked over to the bed. She smiled sweetly at her sleeping flatmate… his dark curls were ruffled and out of place, and the cut on his cheek was covered by a small bandage that Jo-Ann applied herself.

"_He looks so cute when he's asleep…"_ the doctor thought, shamelessly. She ignored the thought and moved a stray curl from his face.

"Magic, huh?" she whispered.

"_Where am I?... where's Jo-Ann?" Sherlock said to himself in the darkness. He could see nothing, but could sense his own body, not being able to move._

"_You care a lot about that little blogger, don't you?" a voice said to him. He felt confusion and wonder as he recognized the voice as his own. "She's sweet… she's kind… she takes care of you… and she puts up with you when no one else will…" the voice continued. _

"_What?... where are you?" Sherlock questioned._

"_But she doesn't love you." _

_Sherlock felt a coolness rush over him… and a sting in his heart. _

"_She says you're brilliant, she defends you when people say harsh things about you, and she tries to keep you out of trouble for your own sake… but she doesn't love you…"the voice said coldly._

"_Stop…" Sherlock said weaker then he meant to sound. _

"_You want to hold her in your arms, keep her safe, and to grow old with her… you think that two people could never make a better pair than you two, that you and Dr. Watson have something truly special…_

_But she doesn't love you." _

"_Shut up!" Sherlock bellowed into the infinite darkness, trying to reach the invisible voice. _

"_What will you do when she gets married? Or when she has children?... What will you do when she leaves your side?... can you really go through life being her demanding little friend who interrupts her life? Can you watch her give her love to someone else?"_

"_I don't love her like that!" he tried to argue with himself… but it seemed the inner voice had the upper hand. _

"_Oh really? Then perhaps you could love this person instead…"the voice silenced… Sherlock tried to find something in his mind… something in that darkness._

"_Who?!" he tried to ask the voice. _

_Sherlock abruptly sat in a broken down car, shaken and dizzy._

"_Hey… I've got it." _

_He turned to look towards the voice which was Ms. Irene Adler, looking through the car door window. She still wore his black trench coat and her hair done in her signature bun._

_The scene around them was the crime scene of the hiker and the backfire, frozen in time, and manipulated by the woman. _

"_I'll do the talking…" she said, walking around to the back of the car. "So the car is about to backfire. And the hiker, he's staring at the sky." She stood up, suddenly next to the hiker, Sherlock with her. "Now you said he could by watching birds, but he wasn't, was he?" Irene spoke with the speed Sherlock usually did. "He was watching another kind of flying thing." She stated, walking past the frozen hiker and pointing to the mountains. Sherlock only followed her steps, still dizzy with every move. "The car backfires, and the hiker turns to look…" the frozen objects moved with her words, the car's exhaust pipe shooting out sparks, and the hiker turning around to see. An object zoomed out of the mountains, and bashed the hiker in the head, causing him to fall to the ground. Dead. "Which was his big mistake." Irene continued. "By the time the driver looks up, the hiker is already dead. What he doesn't see, if what killed him…" the driver, Mr. Smitt, got out of the car up the hill and looked in their direction. "Because it's already being washed away." The scene froze once more, as Irene and Sherlock pear down at the object that killed the hiker at the edge of the pond._

_A boomerang. _

"_An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel… with a boomerang." She smiled with satisfaction, turning to face a dazed Sherlock. "You got that from one look?... Defiantly sexy." She bit her lip. Sherlock moved his head in circles, trying to process everything._

"_I…I…" was all he could muster. Darkness surrounded him, as he felt soft pillows and sheets beneath his body. All was dark and cold… the only sound was his heart beating, and even that would sometimes stop. _

"_Hush now…" Sherlock heard Irene's sultry voice in the black, "It's okay." He began to see her lovely face, blurred and glowing. "…I'm only returning your coat…" she purred. _

Sherlock's eyes shot open, finding himself in his bed at 221B.

"Jo-Ann?" he slurred, trying to sound awake. "Jo-Ann!" he called. The doctor looked down the hallway, and rushed to the bedroom door. She got it open fast enough to see Sherlock crawl across the mattress and fall ungracefully off the foot of the bed.

"You okay?" she asked, trying not to laugh.

"How did I get here?" he mumbled, still gathering his bearings.

"Well I guess you don't remember much…" Jo-Ann scratched the back of her head, "You weren't making a lot of sense… oh I should warn you, I think Lestrade… filmed you on his phone." Sherlock breathed slowly, attempting to stand up.

"Where is she?" he asked, on his feet.

"Where is who?" Jo-Ann questioned.

"The woman, that woman." Sherlock said twirling around trying to regain balance.

"What woman?"

"The Evil!" he flung his arms, "the woman woman!"

"Oh, Irene Adler?" Jo-Ann caught on, placing her hands on her hips. "She got away, no one saw her." Sherlock looked around the room and stumbled to the window. "She wasn't here, Sherlock." Jo-Ann watched Sherlock fall to the ground again, crawling around the floor. "no, no, no!" Jo-Ann scolded, "Back to bed!" she wrapped her arms around his back and tossed him back on the bed. "You'll be fine in the morning. Just. Sleep." She ordered, tucking the sheets around him. She stroked his shoulder, standing up straight.

"Offff course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock said, nearly face down in his pillow.

"Yes, you're great." Jo-Ann played along. "Now I'll be in the living room if you need me." She walked over to the door.

"Why would I need you?" he asked coldly. She froze in the doorway, narrowing her eyes at the ground. The adorable side of Sherlock was defiantly gone by now…

"No reason at all." She responded, closing the bedroom door behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! again thank you for all the faves/follows/reviews! this chapter is about how Sherlock and Jo-Ann met :D**

**Its told in Jo-Ann's POV. The next chapter will be the same flashback, but from Sherlock's POV :D**

**Enjoy and please review! **

Chapter 7

Everything was dull.

At least that's the way it seemed to me. Doctor Jo-Ann Watson is the name, and this is the story of how my life truly began.

My life was in shambles. I had just been sent home from Afghanistan due to my… hindrance. I was shot, you see… I knew I was shot in the shoulder, and I knew I would recover. But they sent me home far too early.

I had a lot left in me.

But they sent me home anyway… saying I was "unfit for combat or service as a doctor." It burned. The war was my life; it told me that I had purpose… that I could do something for this world. But because of that bloody shoulder, my life of adrenaline and excitement was over. If I was going to be sent home for an injury, I wanted it to show.

So I made myself think I was shot in the leg.

I walked around with a cane, to show that I _truly_ couldn't serve in the war anymore. After a little while, it even began to hurt… like I was really shot there. When people asked me about my cane or limp, I could tell them stories about the war. When I woke up in the morning, my leg hurt, constantly reminding me of the war.

But then it began to backfire.

The pain was in my mind, the limp was in my mind… but it all felt so real. Instead of being reminded of the times I enjoyed in the war, I was reminded that I couldn't serve anymore. I told myself I was useless… a troublesome woman that needed help up the stairs. People didn't care how I got my injury… I was just the injured gazelle that would be killed by the lion eventually. That damn leg… I _was _shot in the leg… right?

Everyday became dull and lifeless.

I woke up every morning trying to forget the nightmares I had the night before. I would visit my therapist that Harry so suggested I visit… that was the last time I took _her_ advice. The therapy did nothing… all my therapist suggested was writing a blog about my life… but nothing ever happened to me.

But I kept going, hoping she would say something that I needed to hear.

I decided on one faithful day to just walk through London… weather to look for something or to make my leg suffer more I didn't know. But I found something, or someone, that led me to the biggest change of my life. I ran into Mike Stamford.

He caught my attention, recognizing me from college believe it or not. When we were classmates, he was like a brother to me. We would play pranks on piers and teachers alike, study and party together, and keep each other in check. He was the one who was most surprised when I told him I was going to be an army doctor. I may have been recognizable from college but he certainly wasn't. He gained a considerable amount of weight; he had brown short hair and a pair of glasses. Overall, he looked like a jolly ol' man with an amazing sense of optimism. He offered me a coffee to catch up, and we sat in a park in central London.

It pained me to tell him I was shot, to say I was out of the war. I snapped at him once, as I tended to be snappy those days, and tried to calm my shaking left hand. He noticed, and stopped asking me about the war.

We talked about our living conditions, and I told him how I was looking for a flatmate… someone to split the bills with and that sort of thing. Stamford said it would be easy for me to find one, with how many female students were looking for flats out of college.

"Who would want me for a flatmate?" I scoffed to myself. Young girls wouldn't want to be dragged down by an old-timer like me. I'm not that old of course, but I sure acted like it back then. He laughed a bit, but then just stared at me in amazement. I asked him why he was doing that, as it was odd for him to shut up for even a second. He replied, saying that I was the _second_ person to say that to him that morning. I was curious now… if this person was as socially withdrawn or depressed as I was, we could possibly get along. I asked who the first person was, to which he smiled and asked if I would like to meet them.

I agreed.

We took a taxi to St. Barts hospital, a location I didn't expect to meet a potential flatmate. I wondered if it was perhaps another doctor… then we would defiantly get along. Stamford asked a flustered pathologist where we could find that potential flatmate, whose name I didn't catch. We walked down to what I suspected was a science lab, meant for finding the cause of peoples death, sense it was so close to the morgue. A feeling built up in me before we entered the lab….what was it? Excitement? Nagging? Whatever it was, I pushed it to the side and focused my energy on acting happy for a good impression.

The door to the lab creaked open, revealing a small room with beakers and expensive equipment. Much more advanced than I thought they would be.

"A bit different than my day." I joked. Stamford laughed and held to door open for me. Taking in my surroundings, and hobbling into the lab, I didn't notice the other person in the room besides Stamford. However I did notice when the person spoke.

"Mike can I borrow your phone?"

That voice! It was deep, and rumbled quietly with every sound. It sounded so intelligent, and yet so… lonely. It was almost like a spell… I turned to it's caster, and time stopped.

There stood a man, about six feet tall, in a slimming black suit. He was skinnier than most his height, but it made him seem mysterious. His luscious dark curls crowned his head, framing his high, sharp cheekbones. His skin was so light it could blend in with snow, and seemed to glow in the light of the lab. He was on the other side of the room, so I couldn't see much detail at the time.

"There's no signal on mine." The man continued.

Oh God… If that was his normal voice, I wouldn't last much longer. Unfortunately for me, that was his normal voice.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Stamford asked him. Seeing as how there was no greeting from either of them, I figured they known each other for some time.

"I prefer to text." The man replied. He hadn't looked at me yet, or at least I didn't see him look.

"Sorry. I left it at home." Said Stamford. Now I knew that was a lie. He had his phone out in the cab, showing me pictures of his nephew. Why did he lie? I ignored it, and noticed the slight disappointed look on the mystery man's face. I sighed and reached for my own phone.

"Here. Use mine." I suggested. He looked at me then, surprised at my speaking probably.

"Oh… thank you." He said politely. Crap, his voice was amazing. I told myself that would be the last time I thought things like that. He walked over, glancing at Stamford, waiting for an introduction.

"Oh! This is an old friend of mine, Jo-Ann Watson." Stamford said, pointing over to me. The man straightened his coat and reached for the phone I was holding out. It was then that I saw his eyes… _those _eyes.

They were a striking blue color, an intense, mesmerizing light blue.

I tried to calm my heartbeat as he gently took the phone from me. He started texting, and I suddenly found my feet very interesting, trying to look at anything but him.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked calmly.

_What?_

Against my wishes, I looked at him, quite confused. I glanced at Stamford, who only smirked at my expression. I couldn't help slight anger rise up in me…

"Sorry?" I asked, hoping he would say never mind or correct his speech.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

I remained silent… tilting my head and glancing at Stamford once again. Anger kept rising.

"Afghanistan. How did you-"

"Ah Molly!" the man exclaimed happily. I turned to see the flustered pathologist from earlier enter the lab with a cup of coffee. She was short, but not petite. Her light brown hair pulled in a low ponytail, and she wore a loose white lab coat. She bashfully handed the coffee to the curly-haired man and blushed when he thanked her. He handed me my phone back as I still tried to figure out what he said.

"What happened to the lipstick?" he asked Molly. _What?_ What kind of question was that? She looked down and played with her fingers.

"Oh um… It wasn't working for me." She smiled.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouths too… small now." He replied as he walked back to the other end of the lab. _Are you kidding me?! _I thought to myself. She squeaked an "ok" before she quickly exited the lab. The poor girl!

"How do you feel about the violin?" he asked, setting down his coffee. I looked at Stamford again, who looked like he knew exactly what was going on. I shifted awkwardly on my feet and asked

"Sorry, what?"

"I play violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end… would that bother you?" he looked up from his work to meet my eyes from across the room. "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He smiled.

My jaw dropped a bit. When I first saw this man, I was hoping that the person Stamford had in mind would show up soon. This is who he thought would make a good flatmate for me? A _man_.

"You… you told him about me?" I asked Stamford. Was this some kind of creepy set up?

"Not a word." He replied in all seriousness.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" I asked no one in particular.

"I did." The mystery man spoke up, putting on his long, black coat. "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend returning home from Afghanistan. Not that hard to figure out." The man finished putting on his coat and blue scarf, and walked in my direction.

"And just_ how_ did you know about Afghanistan?" I was slightly ticked now. Didn't anybody consider my privacy?

"I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London. We should be able to afford it. Be there tomorrow evening around seven o'clock." He stood in front of me, pointing out our height difference. "Sorry, got to dash. I forgot my riding crop in morgue." He said casually. _Nice little place?! We?! Riding crop?!_ My anger was no longer rising, it was at the top. He walked around me and headed for the door.

"Is that it?" I snapped, turning around to face him.

"Is that what?" he asked, looking too relaxed.

"We just met, and we are going to go look at a flat?" I asked coldly. He looked at Stamford, confused, and turned back to me.

"Problem?" he asked innocently. His voice seemed to switch from making me melt, to making me annoyed. I almost smiled at Stamford, wondering if this was a joke. I inhaled sharply and continued.

"We don't know a _thing_ about each other, I don't know where we are meeting, I don't even know your _name_." my anger was clearly readable in my voice. He paused for a minute as he narrowed his eyes at me. His voice returned to its full deepness as he spoke a mile a minute.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been sent home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who worries about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him since he is an alcoholic. Or maybe because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid."

I looked down at my leg and back at him…

"It's enough to be going on, don't you think?" he said playfully. I remained silent… trying to comprehend what just happened. He walked through the door, and leaned back into the room.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes. And the address is 221B Baker Street" he clicked his tongue and winked at me with a smile. "Afternoon!" Sherlock said to Stamford as he took his leave.

I only stood there… trying to calm my heartbeat from that wink, _and_ trying to figure out just who he was. I slowly looked at Stamford, jaw dropped.

"Yeah… He's always like that." Is all he replied. I shifted from one leg to the other… was that completely by chance… or completely brilliant?

We walked out of St. Barts together, sense Stamford agreed to pay for cab fare. The cab ride was quiet, until my question finally surfaced.

"Who, or _what_ exactly was that?" I asked, looking over at my old friend.

"The most genius man you will ever meet." Stamford replied.

"Is he really like that all the time?" I smiled. Life would surely never be boring if it was true.

"Yeah… although I've never seen him wink at anyone." He looked over at me and smirked.

If it wasn't for Mike Stamford, I wouldn't have met the detective that changed my life.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Everything was dull.

That's the way I've always seen it. The name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is how my world became a bit more interesting.

People were so stupid. I didn't bother getting close to anyone. Sure I had a few fans… like Angelo, Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, and a man named Mike Stamford… But Mrs. Hudson was more like a metaphorical mother than anything else. I hated my brother, the man that was practically the entire British government. Lestrade was tolerable, but I knew he saw me as a nuisance.

I was stuck working on smaller cases of people who were turned down by the police. The little boring cases that most would overlook. They were entertaining enough to keep me from crawling up the walls. I took small payments from the people who hired me, but that was only to pay for the shabby flat I was forced to rent.

Everything moved so slowly… so boring and colorless…

I got a call from Mike Stamford one day, asking me if I'd like to have breakfast with him. I was working on a case at the time, but it was at a standstill until I could meet Molly later that day. So I agreed to see Mike, although I would only order coffee. I hated eating on cases… it only dulled the senses.

We met at a café on Victoria St. London. It was a larger café than I would have liked, but Mike chose the location.

We greeted each other like normal and ordered our selections. I ordered my coffee black with two sugars, while he ordered a porker meal of three eggs and extra bacon. We caught up on what was going on with our lives… well it was mostly me listening to him ramble on and on. I glanced over several people who were going to have a domestic when they got home. As it seemed every family had some kind of conflict. Mike asked me where I was living at the time, to which I didn't wish to reply. My living conditions were… _unacceptable_, to say the best. It was better than being homeless… sometimes…

I told him I was looking for a flatmate, but that I must be a difficult person to find one for.

"After all, who would want me for a flatmate?" I mumbled.

Who could possibly live with a sociopath like me? Mike chuckled and said he would keep an eye out for me. Like that would do anything.

We said our goodbyes, and I tried to kill some time while I waited for Molly to show up at St. Barts hospital.

Molly Hooper finally showed up at the hospital and let me into the morgue. I was thankful for her, since she was the only one who was willing to put up with me. She did act rather… flustered around me… but she was a naturally nervous person.

I unzipped the body-bag that held a corpse of great significance to my case. I studied his lifeless face and sniffed in the scent.

"How fresh?" I asked Molly.

"Just in." she replied instantly, "six or seven natural causes. He used to work here…" she paced around the examination table. "I knew him, he was nice." She said sweetly and sadly at the same time. I zipped the bag back up and turned to face her.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." I smiled.

I lashed out, whipping the corpse with said item. Six… seven… eight.. nine. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. I saw Molly flinch every time I hit the corpse.

"So… bad day was it?" she giggled, after I stopped hitting the body. I huffed and re-buttoned my jacket. I took out my notepad and rapidly wrote down information.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it, text me." I told her. She nodded, and looked increasingly nervous.

"Listen…" she began, "I was wondering…" I glanced at her, and did a double take. "Maybe later, when you're finished—"

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before…" I noted. She seemed to panic a bit, staring at me and looking for an answer.

"I uhh… refreshed it a bit." She smiled. That was a lie. She hadn't worn lipstick all day as the edges of her lips were sharp with color, not allowing time for it to fade underneath the fresh layer. I just slowly turned back to my notepad.

"Sorry… you were saying?" I noticed her relief appear and disappear as she continued.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." She said firmly. I closed my notepad, and smiled as I said,

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

I heard her squeak "ok" as I exited the morgue.

I held a pipette in my hand, ready to start examine a blood sample under the microscope. I focused on the drop that threatened to fall from the glass tube I held steady… I didn't notice the door to the lab creak open, with two guests coming in.

"A bit different than my day."

I glanced in the direction of the gentle, yet slightly ruff voice that sounded like a woman. But that moment unbelievably shocked me.

Time stopped.

The said woman stood next to the doorway, leaning to her right on her silver cane. She had dark blonde hair pulled back into a small ponytail, letting short bangs hover over her forehead. She had deep blue eyes, without any makeup surrounding them, and a cute button nose. _Cute?_ Her well-shaped lips formed a small smile, although it didn't hide the dark circles around her eyes and the over-all look of exhaustion. She was on the short side… about 5'5". She wore boot cut, dark jeans, tightest around her hips and thighs. Her blue plaid shirt hung loosely underneath her black shooter jacket.

Her limp was obviously only in her mind, as her weight-shift was nothing like it would be if she were truly injured. However her hair and her posture read 'military' so perhaps she _was_ injured in war.

I stopped my deducing and time resumed as I continued my work. Mike Stamford was also there, which told me the whole purpose of their visit. This is who he though could live with me? I walked over to a computer monitor that displayed the current x-ray that was taking place in a different machine.

"Mike can I borrow your phone?" I asked him. I needed to ask Molly about those bruises.

"What's wrong with the landline?" he replied. Uhg… calling people took too long.

"I prefer to text." I answered. I tried not to look at the woman he brought… after all she would be scared off soon.

"Sorry, I left it at home." Mike said. Well that was a lie. I could very well see the shape of it in his suit jacket, although most people wouldn't notice.

"Uh… Here. Use mine." The woman spoke up.

"Oh…" I mumbled, "Thank you." I got up to retrieve the cell phone from her, but looked over at Mike for introduction.

"Oh! This is an old friend of mine, Jo-Ann Watson." He told me.

"_Jo-Ann Watson" _I repeated in my head. That was a… lovely… name. I noticed her eyes avoiding me, and her cheeks a very slight pink. _Ah…_

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" I asked. This was going to be fun. I enjoyed the look of surprise on her face, obviously Mike didn't tell her about me.

"Sorry?" she questioned.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" I repeated. Surely she would be angry with me after this. Better to let her know of my genius now then later. She glanced nervously around the room before answering.

"Afghanistan. How did you—"

"Ah! Molly!" I interrupted. Molly entered the room, carrying my coffee with her. Ms. Watson didn't give any greeting to her however… probably trying to figure out how I guessed about Afghanistan. But Molly looked a bit different from earlier.

"What happened to the lipstick?" I asked her. It had been wiped off.

"Oh um… It wasn't working for me…" she smiled.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth is too… small now." I told the truth. It was an improvement, in color and shape, and now it was back to normal. She just squeaked something and left as I walked back to the computer screen, sipping my coffee. I could sense Watson's anger.

"How do you feel about the violin?" I asked randomly. If this woman was going to be my flatmate I needed to know certain things.

"Sorry what?" she asked.

"I play violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end… would that bother you?" I looked up at her confused face, "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." I smiled. Her jaw dropped, as expected. She probably thought I was some kind of pervert, trying to move in with an unknown woman… but honestly, anything was better than my current living conditions.

"You… you told him about me?" Jo-Ann asked Mike.

"Not a word." Mike replied. Like I needed any information beforehand… the evidence was always right under everyone's noses.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" she asked. Here we go…

"I did." I grabbed my coat and began to put it on, "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend returning home from Afghanistan. Not that hard to figure out." I smiled, putting on my favorite blue scarf.

"And just _how_ did you know about Afghanistan?" She sounded very irritated now, but I didn't feel like explaining myself.

"I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London. We should be able to afford it. Be there tomorrow evening around seven o'clock." I stood by her now, making me realize that she was six or seven inches shorter then I was. "Sorry, got to dash. I forgot my riding crop in morgue." Oh… maybe that wasn't the best thing to mention… well too late now. I walked around her and was reaching for the door when she objected.

"Is that it?" she snapped. Her anger was easily displayed in her voice.

"Is that what?" I asked her, walking back in front of her.

"We just met, and we are going to go look at a flat?" Jo-Ann asked me. I glanced at Mike… after all wasn't that the whole point?

"Problem?" I wondered. She smiled over at Mike, almost to ask if this was a joke. She inhaled sharply and began to tell me her objections.

"We don't know a _thing_ about each other, I don't know where we are meeting, I don't even know your _name_." she look at me very irritated. 'Where we are meeting'? So she was considering being my flatmate… I narrowed my eyes at her and began to be serious.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been sent home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who worries about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him since he is an alcoholic. Or maybe because he recently walked out on his wife." I looked down at her right leg and continued. "And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid." I finished. I enjoyed her shock, but it was nothing out of the ordinary… everyone looked like that when I told them their life story based on how their tie positioned or how their pants pleated. "It's enough to be going on, don't you think?"

She didn't say anything, which was a bit unusual… normally people would immediately object. I walked out the door, but remembered I forgot to tell her something. I leaned back in the door and told her,

"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street." I didn't know why, but I decided to wink at her. "Afternoon!" I shouted to Mike and took my leave.

Jo-Ann did show up at 221B Baker Street, and I introduced her to Mrs. Hudson the landlady. I tried to hold back my laughter when Jo-Ann got all flustered as she tried to explain to the older woman that we were not a couple. Hearing her shout "damn my leg" when Mrs. Hudson told her to rest was even funnier. It didn't take much to convince her to join me on a case that Lestrade needed my help on. Somehow I had a feeling that she got off on adrenaline like I did, not in the same manner of course. My suspicions of her being an army doctor were confirmed, which could help me on this case. We were riding in a cab on the way to the crime scene in question when I noticed Jo-Ann staring at me… she was clearly confused.

"Ok, you've got questions." I broke the silence.

"Yes, where are we going?" She replied instantly.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" She looked genuinely interested.

"What do you think?" I asked her, as people did like to be right if she guessed correctly.

"I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives." The doctor stared at me again. I smiled and started to explain.

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world, I invented the job." I stated proudly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." I smiled a bit.

"The police don't consult amateurs." She seemed to smile back… now she had done it. Amateur?! I was an _expert_! Beyond an expert! Of course the best way to tell her that was to prove it.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I asked you 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'. You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" She asked innocently. Here we go…

"I didn't know, I saw." I took a deep breath and continued to explain my deductions. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says 'Military'. That and your comment about the lab, 'a bit different from my day' said 'trained' so army doctor it is. Obvious. Next your face is tan, yet no tan above the wrists, so no sunbathing. You look like you're in pain when you walk yet you don't ask for a chair when you stand… like you've forgotten about it. So it's at least partly psychosomatic, that says that the original cause was traumatic, so wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." I finished.

"You said I had a therapist." Jo-Ann pointed out, not commenting on anything I just said.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother…"

"Yes?"

"You're phone. It's expensive. Internet enabled, MP3 player… you're looking for a flatshare, you wouldn't waste money on this, so it's a gift then. Scratches, not one but many, showing that the phone was in a pocket with keys and coins. This phone is expensive; you wouldn't treat a luxury item like this, so that says it's had a previous owner. The next bit is easy, you know it already." I twirled the said phone in my hands as I spoke.

"The engraving?" Jo-Ann suggested. There was indeed an engraving on the back of the cell phone that read "To Harry Watson, Love Clara." I nodded and continued.

"Harry Watson. Clearly a family member that has given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero that can't find a place to stay… unlikely you've got an extended family or someone your close to, so brother it is. Now Clara… who's Clara? The message says she is a romantic attachment, this is an expensive phone so that says wife, not girlfriend. They must have split up recently; this phone is only six months old. They couldn't have gotten along, six months and he's already giving away the phone? If she left him, he would have kept the phone, sentiment you know, people often have that. But he's already gotten rid of it, so he left her. He gave the phone to you, so that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him… maybe you swing that way and liked his wife? Or maybe you didn't like his drinking." Jo-Ann looked offended when I said 'swing that way' but she continued with her questioning.

"How… could you possibly know about the drinking?" She asked as she took her phone back from me.

"Shot in the dark… a good one though. The power connection, it has tons of little scratches around it. Every night he went to plug it in but his hands were shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them… there you go, you see you were right."

"_I _was right? Right about what?" Jo-Ann remarked.

"The police don't consult _amateurs._" I countered.

Silence fell upon the cab after my last sentence. I braced myself for the rejection that would follow… no one liked my nose sticking into their business. She would yell at me and tell me that a was a good-for-nothing-

"That… Was… Amazing."

…Well that wasn't right… my brain seemed to slow as I checked my hearing to see if I was imagining things. Did she really just say that?

I looked over at her curiously, while she smiled down at her phone.

"What did you say?" I asked her. Was this really happening?

"I said that was amazing." She answered. This was happening… she was actually telling me that my gift was a good thing… I knew that it was a great thing, but no one ever appreciated it so openly before.

"…do you think so?" I was not really sure how to respond.

"Yes. It was extraordinary, Sherlock. Quite extraordinary." She said in all honesty. That was the first time anyone ever said that to me… it was also the first time I heard her say my name. Maybe… this woman… could get along with me? I was at a complete loss for words…

"That's… not what people normally say…" my mouth continued anyway.

"Oh? What do people normally say?" she asked innocently. I chuckled and told her the response I got from people every day.

"Piss off!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Sorry if Sherlock seems out of character in the chapter, but i needed to add some fluffyness :3**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 9

Sherlock cursed himself in his mind, lying in his bed at 221B after being tucked in by Jo-Ann.

"'_Why would I need you'?! You need her for everything you self-absorbed sociop-" _

"Ahh!~"

The detective's thoughts were interrupted by a woman's sigh. It sounded love-struck and quite disturbing… Sherlock looked around to make sure it wasn't Jo-Ann that made that noise. But his eyes settled upon an unexpected sight…

His long black coat hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

The last he had seen his coat, it was covering a naked Irene Adler that stabbed him with a drugged needle. He blinked a few times to make sure it was really there before untwisting himself from the sheets. Sherlock slowly got out of the bed, but instantly stumbled due to the swarming in his brain. Shaking his head, he continued to trek over to the coat. The front pocket, however, was luminous in a light blue glow. Reaching inside the pocket, Sherlock pulled out his mobile phone, which had received an unread text. Unlocking the phone, he slowly read the message…

_Until next time, Mister Holmes. –Ms. A._

Sherlock leaned against the door and sighed… something told him this was going to be an on-going thing.

The detective and the doctor ate breakfast together the next morning, which was a rare occurrence for Sherlock. He didn't eat very often, despite Jo-Ann's constant nagging. The curly-haired man sipped his coffee and read the morning paper while Jo-Ann munched on her eggs… both of them trying to ignore a very annoyed Mycroft burning holes in them with his eyes.

"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock tried to reassure him.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." Mycroft countered.

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants…" the detective paused for a moment, "Protection… for some reason… Do you see how this works? That camera phone is her 'get out of jail free' card."

Mycroft just stood there, rigid and annoyed. He opened his mouth to say more when a strange sound interrupted him.

"Ahh!~"

Awkward silence fell upon them… Mycroft looked at Jo-Ann, while Jo-Ann looked at Sherlock.

"What was that?" the doctor asked, making Mycroft relieved it wasn't her.

"Text." Sherlock replied, taking mental note to turn his phone down. He had figured it out the night before that the sigh was a customized text alert, set to a contact under "Ms. A". It must have been done when Sherlock was missing his phone.

The detective put down the newspaper and got up to get the said phone that was across the room.

"What was that noise?" Jo-Ann asked, more specific. Sherlock was over by Mycroft now and ignored her question

"You knew there were other people after her too, Mycroft… Before you sent Jo-Ann and I in there." He checked the text message he received, that read "_Good morning, Mr. Holmes._" The phone was re-locked and put in his pocket as he walked back to the breakfast table. "CIA trained killers, I think."

"Excellent guess." Mycroft said casually.

"Yeah, thanks for that Mycroft." Jo-Ann said coldly. After having a gun pointed to her head, she had every reason to be upset.

"A disgrace! Sending your little brother in danger like that!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen. Carrying a piece of toast over for Sherlock, she continued. "Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!" she stroked Sherlock's shoulder.

"Oh shut up Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft said absentmindedly.

"MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted. Jo-Ann glared at the older Holmes brother, but couldn't help but take notice of how intense Sherlock sounded. Mycroft suddenly realized what he said and made a quick, but sincere apology.

"Thank you." Mrs. Hudson smiled and began walking back to the kitchen.

"Though, do in fact shut up." Sherlock added, reading his newspaper once more.

"_There he is." _Jo-Ann thought to herself.

"Ahh!~"

There it was again… the noise.

"Oh it's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson piped up. Sherlock ignored her and checked his phone again.

"_Feeling better?"_

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see." Sherlock said to Mycroft and went back to his newspaper. Jo-Ann kept awkwardly eating her eggs, still bothered by the text alert.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft suggested.

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter." The younger brother stated, making Jo-Ann hold back her laughter. "I believe her user name is: 'the whip hand'."

"Yes… excuse me." Mycroft said un-amused and answered his phone, walking outside the door to the flat. Sherlock glared at him intently until he was out of sight. After the older Holmes exited, Sherlock took a few bites of the eggs benedict that Mrs. Hudson cooked for him. Jo-Ann stayed silent for a moment, but then voiced her concerns.

"Why does your phone make that noise?" She sat back, adjusting her blue striped shirt that fit her snuggly.

"What noise?" Sherlock asked as if he had forgotten.

"_That _noise. The one that sounds….. _Intimate." _The doctor said awkwardly.

"It's a text alert. It means I've got a text." He really didn't want to explain… anything involving Ms. Adler was uncomfortable. Jo-Ann nodded and took another bite of her eggs.

"Your texts don't usually make that noise…" she continued.

"Well, somebody got a hold of the phone, and apparently as a joke… personalized their text alert noise." Sherlock kept his eyes on his food, which suddenly became unappealing.

"huh… so every time they text you-" Jo-Ann began, but was interrupted with impeccable timing.

"Ahh!~"

"It would seem so." Sherlock stated. These texts were getting on his nerves. He checked his phone once more, noticing that Jo-Ann was trying to peak at the screen.

"_I'm fine since you didn't ask."_

"Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life its…" Mrs. Hudson tried to request. The two continued their breakfast, when Sherlock felt an itch in his throat. He ignored it and picked up his newspaper to continue reading.

"I wonder who could have gotten a hold of your phone…" Jo-Ann continued further, as she wasn't going to give up this topic. "Because it would have been in your coat wouldn't it?"

"I'll leave you to your deductions." Sherlock stated as he found himself holding his newspaper in front of his face… The itch in his throat intensified. Jo-Ann smiled and glanced at Sherlock's phone.

"I'm not stupid you know…" She was getting rather irritated for some reason… she had a guess at who took her flatmate's phone, but she didn't like it.

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock played along. He was going to say more, but broke out into a fit of coughing. He dropped his newspaper and grabbed his glass of water. Jo-Ann stood up instantly and hovered over him, rubbing his back in small circles. Sherlock muttered "I'm fine" and went back to his paper. Jo-Ann fought the instinct to further take care of him and slowly sat back down.

Mycroft re-entered the room, finishing his important phone call. Sherlock glared at him once more.

"What else does she have?" the detective asked his brother, "Irene Adler." Mycroft just looked at him confused.

"Irene Adler! The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs." Sherlock stated angrily, crumbling his newspaper. "There's more…" he said curious… this _was_ an interesting matter. He stood up and in front of Mycroft now, "much more… something big is coming isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours." Mycroft smiled coldly. "From now on, you will stay out of this." The brother-like bickering was returning, and Jo-Ann just shook her head at it.

"Oh will I?" Sherlock gritted.

"Yes Sherlock… you will." Mycroft said with a voice like ice. The two had a miniature staring contest before Sherlock turned away and abruptly sat in the love seat closest to the window. "Now If you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend…" the older Holmes said, sounding almost tiered.

"Do give her my love." Sherlock said sarcastically, begging to play his violin. Mycroft just rolled his eyes and nodded his goodbye to Jo-Ann. The doctor smiled at Sherlock's violin playing, and enjoyed the music as she finished her meal.

Jo-Ann squeezed out the excess water out of the cold washcloth she twisted in her hands. It turned out that the cough Sherlock had turned into a fever by night. The doctor suspected it was a side effect of the drug Ms. Adler used, or Sherlock's bedroom was too cold that night. Either way, she hated seeing Sherlock sick… it was the first time he was sick since they met, and it terrified Jo-Ann. She carried the washcloth, some towels, and a bowl of cold water into the detective's bedroom, which was dimly lit by one lamp. Her heart clenched a bit when she saw Sherlock lying helplessly on the bed… his fever hadn't broken yet, but he was sweating up a storm. His face was a few shades redder and his breathing was slow and wheezy. The blankets were pulled up to his neck and his pillow was damp from sweat. He looked up at Jo-Ann, and by his expression, he was in pain. She sighed and set the bowl on the nightstand by the bed.

"Your fever should break soon Sherlock, and then you'll feel a little better…" She said softly, wiping his forehead with a dry towel, and placing the cold washcloth in the same spot.

"I'm glad mydoctor could take care of me…" Sherlock whispered. Jo-Ann blushed a bit and smiled. "I-I could have done it by myself…" he defended himself quickly, then continued. "I just hope I haven't got you sick." He said, worried.

"I don't get sick so easy… being an army doctor builds your immune system." She said sweetly. Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but in the dim lighting, she looked very beautiful… shadows crept on the left side of her face, while the right side glowed in the light. And the way she smiled, with soft eyes and rosy cheeks, it made her look all the more lovely. Sherlock declared his hot cheeks to be caused by the fever and averted his eyes. Jo-Ann also averted her eyes, and started to pull the blankets down the bed. Sherlock quickly grabbed the blankets back.

"What are you doing?" he panicked. He was still in his suit, only the jacket had been removed, but it was still slightly embarrassing in his state.

"You need to change, your clothes are soaked!" she said defensively. She reached for the blankets again, but Sherlock gripped them tighter.

"I can change by myself." He gulped. He knew he couldn't… just gripping the blankets was exhausting. But wasn't about to let his… _female_ flatmate dress him.

"No you can't Sherlock… you're not in your strongest state at the moment and staying in wet clothes is only going to make it worse." Jo-Ann argued. "Now stop being a child and let me help."

Sherlock reluctantly loosened his grip slightly… and by accident… letting Jo-Ann take advantage and pull the blankets off. She helped the struggling detective to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Now the shirt is easy." Jo-Ann said reassuringly, starting to un-do the first button of the white dress shirt. Sherlock tried to look at anything but her, which included the lamp, window, floor, and ceiling. But when she was half-way down the shirt, he couldn't help but look at her. Jo-Ann's hands were steady, although her face was bright red. After the second button, it became apparent that he wasn't wearing an undershirt. Sherlock wasn't very muscular, but his chest and stomach where lean and pale…

"_And brilliantly sweaty…"_ Jo-Ann caught herself thinking. She mentally slapped herself and undid the last button. She slid the silk shirt off Sherlock's sharp shoulders and removed it completely. She quickly threw the shirt in the clothes basket and went through the dresser drawers to find pajamas. She chose a lightweight grey shirt and black pants made of the same material. But then her thoughts went back to the second phase of this mission… pants.

She shook her head and turned back to Sherlock, bringing the fresh clothes with her. The grey shirt was easily put on the sick detective, who remained silent. Jo-Ann stood up, putting the pajama pants beside Sherlock, and broke the silence.

"There we go. Now stand up so we can get you out of those pants- I mean-!" she slapped her forehead with force that would probably cause a bruise later. Her face didn't cease to burn when she heard the detective laugh a bit.

"Can you hand me my scarf?" he asked. She looked surprised, why would he want to be warmer?

"Your… scarf?" Sherlock nodded in response and waited. If it was normal circumstances, Jo-Ann would have argued, but she was too out of sorts at the time. She grabbed the blue scarf off the hook on the back of the door, and handed it to him. He took it, and then reached out for help to stand up. The doctor helped him up swiftly, but was taking off guard by Sherlock holding the scarf over her eyes.

"w-what are you doing?" she stuttered, lowering the scarf from her face.

"I'm going to blindfold you and you're going to help me stand while I change." Sherlock said firmly. Jo-Ann hid her slight relief as the man tied the blue scarf around her eyes.

"But you're sick…" she argued. Even if she was embarrassed, his health was her top concern.

"I'm feeling a bit better…" he smiled, although she couldn't see it.

Jo-Ann supported him perfectly, even if she couldn't see what was going on. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was dressed in the fresh clothes and lying back in bed. Jo-Ann's face was back to normal temperature, although Sherlock was pushing a 38.3 degree Celsius fever. The doctor unconsciously kneeled next to the bed and began stroking the detective's dark curls, almost messaging his scalp. This caused Sherlock to drift into a light sleep, the pain fading in and out. Jo-Ann grew tired as well and slowly pulled her hand away from his head. He instantly opened his eyes, seeing his doctor begin to stand up.

"Don't go!" he whined. Then he realized what he said… Jo-Ann giggled and spoke with a motherly tone.

"You'll be ok Sherlock… I'll only be out in the living room so I'll be able to hear you if you need me." She smiled. She turned to leave again, but her wrist was caught by the sick detective.

"But I do need you! I-I need you _with_ me!" Sherlock blurted out. He didn't know why he was saying it, but he really did need her… he finally realized it when he asked why. Jo-Ann blinked a few times, but broke out into a joyful grin. Sherlock blushed more than the fever made him already, and continued against his better judgment. "a-and… since you don't get sick easily… maybe you… could… sl...Sleep here?" he still held onto her wrist, afraid she would leave. Jo-Ann was going to argue or object in some manner, but after seeing his bright blueish-grey eyes, she couldn't say no.

"Ok." She confirmed, pulling back the blankets and smiling uncontrollably. She leaned against a pillow that lied between her and the backboard of the bed. Her legs stretched out underneath the covers, and she let Sherlock rest his head on her lap. Snuggling into place, the detective sighed, closing his eyes…

Jo-Ann smiled down at her sleeping best friend… and ran her fingers through his curly hair again.

After a few minutes, she was sure he was asleep, and was feeling tired herself. He cuddled against her lap, gently wheezing with every breath. Before she fully fell asleep, the doctor leaned down and gently kissed his cheek.

"Good night, Sherlock Holmes…" she whispered


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

With the help of Jo-Ann's comfort and care, Sherlock made a quick recovery from his fever. Days passed normally for the rest of the chilling November month, and before anyone knew it, it was only a week before Christmas. Jo-Ann called off from the clinic for the Saturday before the grand holiday and went shopping for all her friends. Luckily, Sherlock was busy as St. Barts, examining some poor corpse's stomach lining. This gave the doctor an excuse to go shopping for him as well. Jo-Ann was not a wealthy woman of course, but the clinic and telling Mycroft how Sherlock was doing allowed her to save up for Christmas. She stopped at many stores throughout London, taking advantage of the sleek black car and shofar that Mycroft suggest she use. For the older Holmes brother, she bought a sleek, yet protective phone case that would fit his mobile. Jo-Ann knew that if he even so much as got a scratch on his phone that he could have a replacement immediately, but the case looked cool anyway.

For Mrs. Hudson, she bought a dark green blouse and supportive, yet fashionable, shoes that she found at a good price. The gift for Greg Lestrade was fairly easy… a mug that read "#1 BOSS" and a wheel for his office chair that he hadn't been able to find. The doctor bought Molly, the pathologist who _clearly_ had a crush on Sherlock, a brown teddy bear with a realistic-shaped heart patch and a miniature stethoscope. Jo-Ann and Molly had grown closer over time, allowing Jo-Ann to find out that Molly likes cute things. She smiled down at the Teddy bear and placed it in one of the many shopping bags she carried. The doctor also got a gift card to the favorite store of her current boyfriend. She had been dating more over the past month and a half… perhaps to get the thoughts away from Sherlock…

Jo-Ann stopped in her tracks on the busy London sidewalk… she had forgotten one gift…

Sherlock's gift.

She had never really thought about what kind of a gift to get for him… they celebrated his birthday once, but he refused to let anyone get him gifts. But this was different… it was Christmas! She couldn't possibly not get him something… but what could he want? He already has clothes… and although he would deny it, his blue scarf and black coat were his favorite and couldn't be replaced. He had a watch, he had a magnify glass, he had all the violin accessories he needed… Sherlock wasn't the kind to have excess or pointless possessions.

"_Except that skull…" _Jo-Ann giggled at her thought. She held her chin in deep thought as she walked down the block, to the car waiting for her at the corner. She reached the car and handed the polite shofar her new shopping bags. But before climbing into sleek black Sudan, something across the street caught her eye…

A bookstore.

"_Maybe there was something in there that Sherlock would like…" _Jo-Ann thought. It was a long shot but it was still worth a try. She told the driver to wait for her there and that she would be back in a few minutes. She ran across the street before any cars could honk at her, and gracefully stepped onto the curb. Her cheeks reddened, however, when two men a few yards away wolf-whistled.

"Yeeeahhh work that honey!" one of them called out. She did look more feminine than usual, wearing a light blue dress that framed her waist and cut off low enough to cover the tops of her high black leather boots. She hugged her puffy white coat a little tighter and entered the bookstore. It was a small, independently owned bookstore, with shelves lining every wall and large baskets of more books in-between. It was well lit, not only by the many lights in the ceiling, but also by the large Christmas tree in the front window.

"Welcome young lady, can I help you?" an old voice piped up. Jo-Ann spun around to look at the long checkout counter and the old man standing behind it. He had short grey hair and a fluffy beard to match. His round reading glasses covered his green eyes that were surrounded by little wrinkles. His smile creased his cheeks, and gave off a very friendly atmosphere. Jo-Ann smiled back at him and answered his question.

"Yes, um… I'm not sure how to ask this… but what gift do you get for a man who has everything?" She giggled awkwardly and the old man chuckled back.

"Well that's quite the predicament… Is he a busy man?" the man asked.

"Yes quite… although when he is not busy, he crawls up the walls." She joked, although it was nearly true. "He is a very interesting man though… we're always out on an adventure of some kind…" she smiled sentimentally. This was the first Christmas they had ever spent together, and she wanted it to be perfect. The old man smiled at her and removed his glasses.

"Well an interesting pass-time for busy people is to write in a journal. It helps keep track of 'adventures' and can be passed down to tell future generations of their lives." He led her to one of the many shelves in the store, this one held twelve or thirteen different style journals. Jo-Ann hadn't considered this gift idea before… after all, she had her blog and Sherlock had his 'mind palace' to keep track of cases and such… but a journal could be different… not that he would write down any 'feelings' of course, but he had fantastic handwriting. And if Sherlock ever had a family, he could pass it on to his grandchildren to tell about their adventures… The old man helped Jo-Ann decide on a brown leather journal with a black suede string to tie it closed. The doctor gave the old man a friendly 'goodbye and merry Christmas' and took her leave.

Walking out the door and almost into the street, Jo-Ann noticed the two men from earlier… except they were both on the ground, bleeding from the noses and holding their stomachs. Normally, she would have checked on them to make sure they were okay, but these two were… how do you say it?... A-Holes.

"_Hmmmmm…. They're fine." _Jo-Ann decided in her mind, and walked over to the car waiting for her.

Christmas Eve came upon 221B Baker Street, and guests started arriving for the party that Jo-Ann invited everyone to against Sherlock's preferences. Lestrade was the first to arrive, greeting Mrs. Hudson and Jo-Ann with warm hugs and giving Sherlock a polite handshake. Sherlock played "_we wish you a merry Christmas_" on his violin for his friends and finished with an elegant note. The three friends cheered applause and shared Champagne together. Jo-Ann's boyfriend arrived shortly after. She smiled brightly and ran over to him with open arms. He returned her hug and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas dear." He beamed down at her. He was the same age as Jo-Ann, which meant around 33. He had medium brown hair, and brown eyes to match. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his presence, feeling a bit sick at the way he greeted his doctor. Jo-Ann had a number of boyfriends since the incident with Ms. Adler, and each one only irritated him more than the last. The boyfriend carried in some treats he brought, and arranged them on a plate in the kitchen.

"Oh Sherlock your song was wonderful! I wish you could have worn the antlers while you played it though." Mrs. Hudson giggled.

"Some things are best kept to the imagination Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied jokingly. He wore his usual black suit, with a dark purple dress shirt underneath

"That would have been a sight." Jo-Ann joked as well. She wore a tight, long-sleeved, red cocktail dress that cut off at the knees… A red pair of strappy high-heels to match. Her hair was down for a change, curving under at the ends that brushed her shoulders. Sherlock laughed a bit, but stopped when Jo-Ann's boyfriend came over and offered him a small pastry. Now was a good time for the detective to let off some steam.

"Uh, no thank you Samuel." Sherlock told him. Samuel was Jo-Ann's first boyfriend since she and Sherlock met. The man looked slightly offended when Jo-Ann piped up.

"Oh no, no ,no, he isn't good with names!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the two.

"No, no, no I can get this one." Said Sherlock. He knew this boyfriend's name, however, but he wanted to poke a bit of fun at the man. "No, Samuel was the doctor… then there was the one with the spots, then the one with the nose, and then who was after the _boring teacher_?"

Jo-Ann pinched her nose in embarrassment as her boyfriend crossed his arms.

"Nobody." The boyfriend answered Sherlock's question.

"Bennett!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, pointing his violin bow at the man named Bennett. "Ah, process of elimination." He finished. Jo-Ann tugged on Bennett's arm and led him away from the happy detective. The detective's happiness lowered a few notches though, when he saw Molly Hooper walk through the door.

"Oh dear God…" he muttered. She wore her hair parted off to the side and a puffy plaid coat, with two large bags carrying presents in her hands.

"Hello everyone! Sorry I'm late!" she giggled nervously. "It-it said on the door to just come on up." Everyone greeted her happily as Jo-Ann took her bags and coat from her. Surprisingly enough, she looked gorgeous in her slim black dress that revealed her shoulders. Sherlock took notice of Lestrade's jaw hanging down in shock.

"We're having Christmas drinkies then?" she said cheerfully. Oh how her cheerfulness irritated Sherlock sometimes. Lestrade asked Molly her drink preference and went to fetch it for her.

Jo-Ann smiled happily, giving Bennett the gift card she bought for him. He accepted it gratefully and gave her a hug around the neck. She laughed and pulled away, but noticed that she was now wearing a beautiful necklace.

"What's this?" Jo-Ann asked happily, gazing down at the new necklace. It was an Amethyst gemstone, surrounded in a silver ring and thin chain.

"Merry Christmas." He said sweetly. Jo-Ann gave him another hug, and slowly pulled away.

"Was that gift card to the bookstore you went to last Saturday?"

Jo-Ann whipped around to see Sherlock standing directly behind her.

"N…No it was to a hardware store—how did you know about the bookstore?" the doctor asked, afraid Sherlock already knew about the present. The detective looked down and played with his violin stings.

"I finished early at St. Barts that day and I like to follow you in my free time." He answered shamelessly. However Jo-Ann already knew he liked to follow her but she was still scared that he saw the gift.

"Did you see what I bought?" she gulped. Sherlock cleared his throat and tried not to look at her.

"No… I was too busy giving a couple of _assholes_ a beat down." He looked at her and smiled. Realization hit the doctor as to why those jerks were on the sidewalk with bloody noses.

"… That was you?" she smiled uncontrollably. The detective only smiled at her mischievously and walked away. He raised his violin bow to the elegant strings, about to play another melody, when the laptop on the desk lit up with an e-mail alert. Sherlock set down his prized instrument and sat down at the desk. The e-mail was addressed to Sherlock, but the sender was unexpectedly Mycroft. Sherlock reluctantly opened the e-mail, hoping that it was short or involved a case of some kind.

_My Christmas, Brother._

Below was a link to a YouTube page that had Sherlock's name in it. The detective clicked on it, also turning down the volume so it wouldn't disturb the party guests. When the video started playing, he froze on the spot.

"…Jo-Ann?..." He mumbled quietly. "…Jo-Ann?..." He called a little louder. Luckily, the doctor was nearby, and heard his call. She set down her drink and walked over to the desk, placing one hand on the desktop and the other on the back of Sherlock's chair.

"What is it Sher…lock…" she asked, but trailed off at the sight of the video currently playing.

There was Sherlock, being rolled out of an ambulance, singing very loud and off-key.

"_Oh OH OH IT'S MAGIC! YOU KnnOOOWWww! NEVER BELIEVE IT'S NOT SOOOOO OHHH IT'S MAGIC! YOU *cough* KNNOOOWWWwww!" _

In the video, the camera followed Sherlock on a stretcher, and then turned to Jo-Ann in the mist of noise. She batted at the camera, mouthing 'stop' but smiling a bit with bright red cheeks.

"Magic huh Ms. Watson?" Lestrade's voice called from behind the camera, proving he was the one filming. Her face grew redder as she swatted at Lestrade, making the next ten seconds of film a struggle over the camera phone.

The video ended, leaving Sherlock and Jo-Ann stare at the computer screen, thanking the Lord that the volume was low enough for no one else to hear. The two, with jaws dropped, looked at the view counter for the video…..

_57,463,981 views._

Jo-Ann felt her ears heat up as she felt a strange impulse to restrain Sherlock from strangling Lestrade. She glanced down at her flatmate, whose eyes were filled with anger.

"…Jo-Ann?..." he mumbled, still staring at the screen.

"Y-yes Sherlock?" Jo-Ann replied, fighting the impulse to retreat.

"… Do you think Lestrade will miss his legs if I tore them off?..."

Jo-Ann patted Sherlock's shoulder, clicking "dislike" on the video, and excused herself from the party to go up to her bedroom.

"How's the hip?" Molly asked Mrs. Hudson nervously. She glanced over to Sherlock, wanting him to say something about her dress after all this time.

"Oh it's atrocious, but thanks for asking." Mrs. Hudson replied sweetly.

"I've seen much worse… but then again I do post mortems." Molly joked, but then realized what she said. "Oh God sorry!" she panicked. Everyone laughed a bit and continued to chat.

Upstairs, Jo-Ann fumbled a wrapped box around in her fingers. It was the journal that she got for Sherlock wrapped in dark purple paper with a white ribbon tied around it. She already gave everyone their presents… except Sherlock. To be honest, she was nervous. She had never given a present to Sherlock before… how would he react? He could tell how much it cost and where she got it in a heartbeat… would he call it useless? Would he even open it? No one else gave any presents to him so far… so was there some reason she shouldn't give it to him?

"_No." _she shook her head. _"Everything is going to be just fine."_ She convinced herself. Jo-Ann gripped onto the box and made her way downstairs.

The doctor hid the secret gift on the mantel when Sherlock began to talk to Molly.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and you're serious about him…"

"_ohhhh this isn't good." _Jo-Ann thought.

"Sorry what?" Molly asked nervously.

"In fact you're seeing him tonight and giving him a gift, too." Sherlock continued, getting up from the desk and walking over to the pathologist.

"Take a day off…" Jo-Ann mumbled, sitting next to Bennett.

"Shut it and have a drink." Lestrade said, trying to hand Sherlock a glass of champagne.

"Oh come on… surely you've all seeing the present at the top of her bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow while the others are slapdash at best." Sherlock began his deduction. "So something special then…" Molly glanced nervously at the bag, forming the beginning of multiple sentences. Sherlock ignored her and grabbed the perfectly-wrapped present out of the bag. "The shade of red echoes the shade of her lipstick. A rather unconscious association, one that she is deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lovvve on her mind." Sherlock said playfully. Molly looked around the room for any escape from the subject, but couldn't find one fast enough. "The fact that she is serious about him is clear from the fact she is giving him a gift at all. That all suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn." Molly's face took on a look of slight heartbreak although, for once, Sherlock didn't notice. "The fact that she is seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she is wearing." Sherlock kept rambling on as he flipped open the small card taped on the present. "Or else she is trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts-…" his deduction stopped however, when he glanced down at the card that read:

"_Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xoxo" _

He gulped as sudden realization fell upon the detective when he read those words. She was serious about him… in love… and he just unknowingly shot her down.

Sherlock glanced around the room, looking at all the disappointed faces… then landing on Molly.

Her eyes weld up with tears, and her cheeks flushed a red that nearly matched her lipstick… completely heartbroken. A long silence ensued… until it was broken but the nearly crying girl.

"You always say such horrible things…" she choked out, trying to laugh instead of cry. "Every time… Always… Always…"

Sherlock found himself at a loss for words… he stepped in place a bit and tried to think of something he could say. Swallowing his pride, he tried to speak.

"I am sorry…" he said quietly, "forgive me."

Molly stared at him intently, looking more angry then sad. Jo-Ann looked at Sherlock, and tilted her head to the pathologist, signaling for him to say more. Sherlock gulped again, wanting to make amends with the woman that helped him so much over the years. He inched closer to her, causing slight surprise.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Sherlock then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Molly stood there for a moment, trying to think of how to react. She opened her mouth to say something…

"Ahh!~"

"Oh! That wasn't me!" Molly defended herself while everyone looked around.

"It was me." Sherlock admitted.

"My God! Really?!" Lestrade questioned in disbelief.

"My phone." Sherlock corrected. Jo-Ann shook her head and withheld a chuckle. But when she thought about it, she had counted how many times she heard that noise come from Sherlock's phone.

"Fifffty seven?" She wondered out loud.

"Sorry what?" Sherlock asked, reading the text that he just received.

"_Mantelpiece." _It read.

"Fifty seven of those texts, the ones I've heard." Jo-Ann continued.

"You've been counting." The detective teased, walking over to the mantelpiece. The doctor felt slight panic, and quickly stood in his way. The other party guests noticed the tension and made conversation amongst themselves.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock eyed his doctor curiously… she looked flustered.

"I-I… You can't come over here." Was all she managed to say. Her cheeks burned as she played with her fingernails… hoping that Sherlock was stupid enough to just listen… he wasn't.

"Why? What are you hiding?" he questioned. Jo-Ann glanced around the room, relived to see that no one was looking at them. She quickly grabbed her hidden present and held it behind her back, taking a hold of Sherlock's hand.

"Come with me." She ordered.

She could feel the guest's eyes on her as she dragged a very confused Sherlock out of the door. They ran down the stairs to the front door of the building, but stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

"We leaving?" Sherlock asked, not really arguing with the woman. Jo-Ann managed to keep the gift hidden so far… but now she was going to give it to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! They really make my day :) and thank you to Nataly SkyPot for reviewing since the beginning :) (gracias a Nataly SkyPot de revisión desde el principio)**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 11

"Here." Jo-Ann exclaimed, holding out the well-wrapped dark purple present she kept hidden from her flatmate. Sherlock glanced at it, and slowly took it from her while keeping his eyes on her.

"You brought me out of the flat to give me a Christmas present?" He eyed his doctor.

"Yeah well, with the little scene you just had with Molly, I didn't want to end up the same." She said coldly, although she didn't mean to.

"How could you end up the same unless you-"

"Just open the gift Sherlock." Jo-Ann interrupted, afraid of where that was going. The detective nodded and untied the white ribbon. The present was neatly un-wrapped and opened, to reveal the brown journal she bought for him earlier. Sherlock untied the suede string and opened the book. Much to his surprise, there was a note on the first page.

"_To keep track of our adventures, Sherlock… - Jo-Ann."_

Sherlock felt his heart clench, although he would deny it. Jo-Ann fidgeted in the silence and spoke up.

"I-it's just a little journal to write stuff in… kind of like my blog but with paper." She joked… and then cursed herself for sounding stupid. "You can take it back if you want, it's just-"

"I'm keeping it." Sherlock interrupted firmly, much to Jo-Ann's surprise. "The gloves Molly got me will probably be thrown away… but this has…" he paused, gesturing to the journal, "reasonable purpose."

Jo-Ann was completely thrown off-guard as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her. They stood for a moment, the doctor completely frozen in the detective's grip. "Thank you." He said in a near whisper, much too close to her ear. She blushed a shade that nearly matched her dress as the parted from the hug.

"Getting sentimental are we?" Jo-Ann teased, "You don't have to you know, it's not like we're a couple or anything." She joked, waving her hands as she said 'a couple'.

"Well, it's Christmas." Sherlock smiled, pointing up the stairs to suggest getting back to the party. Jo-Ann nodded and made her way up the stairs.

"Oh! I almost forgot…" Sherlock spoke up behind the doctor halfway up the stairs. "Wait here." He told her, walking around her and running up the rest of the way.

"Wha-Sherlock?"

In the flat, the guests continued to chat, but couldn't help feel a little uneasy at the way Jo-Ann and Sherlock ran out the door. Things quieted down a bit when the said detective entered the flat without his doctor.

"Is everything alright dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked him, as he ran over to the desk.

"Just fine, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled, rummaging through one on the desk drawers. He placed his journal on the desktop.

"Where's Jo-Ann?" Bennett spoke up, walking over to the detective. Sherlock eyed him, grabbing a gift neatly wrapped in blue paper.

"Worried?" Sherlock said, giving the boyfriend a teasing look. Bennett's eyes went wide as he was about to fight back, when Sherlock casually walked around him. "We'll be in soon." The detective said, walking out the door.

Jo-Ann waited on the stairs… leaning against the left wall and crossing her arms. She looked up the narrow stairway at the sound of footsteps. Sherlock happily trotted down the stairs, but suddenly grew nervous when he reached her. The stairway was narrow enough then it was just one person, but now they were face to face in awkward silence. Sherlock didn't look at her, and held out the small gift.

"Merry Christmas." He mumbled. Jo-Ann stared, shocked. But came to her senses and politely took the gift from the nervous flatmate and carefully opened it.

"Oh Sherlock! I love it!" she exclaimed, pulling a soft red scarf, much like the blue one Sherlock always wore. She set down the box and wrapped the scarf around her neck the way the detective always did.

"You… really like it?" he asked vulnerably. He never bought a present for anyone… let alone a woman. He could have just gotten her a gift card or nothing at all and she would have understood… but he knew she liked to be sentimental.

"Like it? This is the greatest gift." She smiled, "I needed a new scarf, and now we match."

Sherlock nodded and couldn't help a smile. The two made their way to the party, with Jo-Ann showing off her new accessory… more then she showed off the Amethyst necklace.

The party came to an end, and the friends all said goodbyes and thanks for the gifts that were exchanged. Molly left first, saying she took the night-shift for Christmas Eve.

Bennett stayed at the apartment, since he and Jo-Ann were going on a date later that night. Mrs. Hudson retired to her flat downstairs, but Sherlock took an object from the mantelpiece and went to his room.

"You alright?" Jo-Ann called out, sitting next to her boyfriend.

"Yes just fine." Sherlock said coldly, slamming his bedroom door. Jo-Ann jumped a bit at the unexpected noise, but continued to talk with Bennett.

Sherlock sat on his bed, slumped over. He stared at the small box he held in his slender hands. It was a little box, wrapped in bright red paper and tied with a thick black rope. The shade of red matched the lipstick that Irene Adler wore when they first met…

"_An unconscious association…" _Sherlock thought.

He untied the thick black rope and opened the little box. But the contents surprised him completely…

The camera phone.

This phone was Ms. Adler's life! She said so herself… so why would she possibly part with it? Sherlock stared in disbelief, making sure it was the correct device… it was.

Mycroft Holmes sat by the burning fire place in his large living room… alone on Christmas was not a foreign situation to him. However his deep thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mobile ringing, the mobile that was now protected by a sleek cell phone case. Looking at the caller ID, he was quite shocked to see that his little brother was calling him.

"Dear Lord… We're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?" the older Holmes teased.

"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight…" Sherlock said, not paying any attention to his brother's sarcastic behavior.

"We already know where she is… as you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters…" said Mycroft, walking over to the large, snow-covered window that let in the moonlight.

"No, I mean you're going to find her dead."

Within minutes, Sherlock and Mycroft strolled into St. Barts hospital after receiving a call from Molly Hooper. They walked into the morgue, where Molly was waiting for them with a corpse on the examination table.

"This is the only body that fit the description; I had it brought here to your home away from home." Mycroft said.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock said to her politely, ignoring his brother.

"I was working anyway… since everyone else is busy with… Christmas…" She replied. But shaking her head, she changed the subject, "The face is a bit… bashed up. So it-it might be difficult…" she said nervously. She pulled the sheet off the corpse's head to reveal a broken and damaged face. It was hardly recognizable.

"Is that her?" Mycroft asked Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him and told Molly,

"Show me the rest of her."

Molly blushed a bit, but pulled the sheet completely off the naked corpse. Sherlock glanced over the body and turned to leave.

"That's her." He answered, walking out of the morgue.

Sherlock stood outside the morgue, looking out over the snowy city through a frosted window. Sure, he was upset over Ms. Adler's death… she was quite interesting… she managed to destroy every theory he had about her, and break into his flat twice. She texted him over fifty times in the past month, and seemed to flirt with him for no reason at all… her death was saddening…

…But that wasn't what he was really upset about…

It was Jo-Ann… she managed to do it again.

She said she didn't love him.

Each time she said it, it hurt. Each time she acted like it, it hurt. Sherlock knew he wasn't in love with her… he didn't care about her that way. But for whatever stupid emotional reason…

It hurt… badly.

"_I'm not his date... I'm not his date!... we're not a couple!... Oh no, no, no! I'm only Sherlock's assistant!... I don't love him!... no reason at all… It's not like we're 'a couple' or anything."_

Each phrase echoed in his mind, leaving an impression on his heart…

"_N…No… I don't have a heart." _He told himself. For his whole life, he learned how to lock out feelings and not be affected by others. No matter what anyone said it him, it hardly made any kind of impact. So why did Jo-Ann's words scrape the surface?

He didn't love Jo-Ann… He was incapable of love…

"_She doesn't love you." _The voice inside told him once again.

"Shit." Sherlock cursed. But his inward conflict quieted down when he saw a cigarette being held next to his face from behind.

"Just the one." Mycroft told him, holding the cigarette to him.

"Why?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"It's Christmas." The brother explained. Sherlock had been smoke free for the past two months, but in his emotional state, he wanted that cigarette.

"Smoking indoors… isn't that one of those… one of those law things?" Sherlock asked quietly, taking the cigarette from Mycroft.

"We're in the morgue… there's only so much damage you can do." He answered, offering Sherlock a light. "How did you know she was dead?"

Sherlock breathed out the sweet cigarette smoke and continued to speak quieter than usual.

"She had an item in her possession. One she said her life depended on… and she chose to give it up."

"Where is this item now?" Mycroft questioned. Sherlock continued to smoke, taking his time. Instead of answering, however, he looked through to door to the morgue in the distance, seeing the crying 'family' of Ms. Adler.

"Look at them…" He said, turning in that direction. "They all care so much…"

Mycroft followed the gaze of his little brother and turned as well.

"Do you ever wonder if there is something wrong with us, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked randomly. Mycroft looked over at his brother with curiosity, and looked back at the crying family.

"All lives end. All hearts are broken." He said coldly, "caring is not an advantage… Sherlock."

The detective heard those exact words constantly growing up. Hard enough as it was to believe, the Holmes' father was worse than either of them when it came to heartlessness. Their parent's marriage was arranged, and their father felt no love. Sherlock breathed in more smoke, and realized it tasted weak.

"This is low tar." He complained about the cigarette.

"Well… You barely knew her." The older Holmes replied. The detective snorted.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." Sherlock said quietly, and walked towards the exit of the door.

"And a happy New Year." Mycroft finished.

Sherlock reached the busy streets, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it with his shoe. The harsh, cool wind nipped at his sharp cheeks, and every breath could be seen. His thoughts drifted back to his childhood… all those times being told by his father, 'caring is not an advantage. It's a waste of time.' every time his father said those words, it sunk to the core of his young heart. His father was heartless… he didn't love Sherlock, Mycroft, or Mother… then the detective thought of a different factor…

His mother.

Ms. Violet Holmes was not like his father. She loved her husband, although no love seemed to be returned. Whenever Mr. Holmes scolded the young Sherlock, Violet would wait until he left the room, and rush over to her son.

"_Caring is an advantage Sherlock… a person can't live without friends or family. You see all the fighting on the telly don't you?" His mother said sweetly, putting her long, curly brown hair behind her ear, and staring at him with the crystal blue eyes they shared. Seven year-old Sherlock nodded his head in response to his beloved mother. _

"_Why do you think those people fight?" she asked her son._

"…_Because they don't like each other?" Sherlock suggested._

"_That's right… If people took a moment, and cared about everyone, there wouldn't be any fighting." She brushed some of his curly hair out of his eyes and stroked his cheek. "I want you to love somebody someday… love makes all the difference in people's lives. Promise me you'll love somebody when you're older?"_

_Sherlock looked up at her lovely face that told him he had a heart._

"_But I already love you!" He exclaimed, giving his mother a hug around the neck. She laughed and held him tightly in her grasp._

"_I love you too, my dear Sherlock…"_

Sherlock smiled at the memory, riding in a cab towards 221B Baker Street. He never said he promised did he… his mother passed away when he was eighteen, so she didn't see him with a woman before. Well with any kind of date for that matter… A few people considered being friends with him through childhood but never stayed with him for very long…

Was Jo-Ann different?

"_Of course she is different!"_ Sherlock yelled in his mind, _"No one has ever stuck with me so long… besides Lestrade, but that's only because he needs my help and he'll be fired if he can't solve cases… Jo-Ann needs me too, but it's different… _

_Isn't it?"_

Now that Sherlock thought about it… when did Jo-Ann ever be around him just because? They are flatmates so it's kind of unavoidable to spend time together. She helped him on cases, but that's because she enjoys danger… She doesn't mind him following her or deducing things about her because she has nothing to hide. She likes violin music, so she doesn't mind when he plays songs while he thinks…

But what about the things she didn't like?

She hated it when Sherlock shot bullets in the wall late at night… and she hated when Sherlock refused to eat or sleep because it affected her as well… she hated when he did experiments in the kitchen. She hated it when he strolled in the door all bloody. And she hated it when she found body parts in the fridge…

So what did Jo-Ann Watson truly like about Sherlock Holmes?


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys! I hope this chapter it to your liking! Please review! :D**

Chapter 12

"We've searched his room and just about everywhere else, he's clean. Are you sure tonight is a danger night?" Jo-Ann asked Mycroft frantically over the phone, with Mrs. Hudson holding Jo-Ann's shoulder in worry. They just finished searching the flat and stood anxiously in the living room, Bennett still resting on the couch.

"I can never be sure with Sherlock…" Mycroft replied, twirling his umbrella in the morgue.

"Did he take the cigarette?" Jo-Ann said, clutching her mobile in both hands while still holding it to her right ear. Bennett eyed her from the couch, concerned at the way she worried over Sherlock.

"Yes." Mycroft replied.

"Shit." Jo-Ann sighed… this meant Sherlock was vulnerable to drug-use. The flat was clean and drug-free, but the detective wasn't home yet, making Jo-Ann itch with worry.

"You have to stay with him, Jo-Ann." Mycroft said firmly, taking his leave form the morgue.

"But… I-I have a date tonight…" she tried to object, after all, if Sherlock was home she didn't need to worry anymore… right?

"No." Mycroft said simply, and ended the call. Jo-Ann sighed and told Mrs. Hudson what was going on. She placed her phone on the coffee table and sat next to Bennett.

"I'm sorry dear… It looks like we'll have to postpone that date." She said sadly, moving a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Bennett sighed, and straightened his white dress shirt.

"You know my friends were wrong about you… you're a great girlfriend." He smiled. This shocked Jo-Ann, she was expecting him to flip out on her.

"Well… thank you." She smiled awkwardly. Bennett's smile faded as he began to get up from the couch.

"Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man." He said coldly, fully standing up.

"_There it is…"_ Jo-Ann thought painfully. "Bennett…" she whined. She liked Bennett, and hoped they wouldn't break up over a man that posed no threat in their relationship… right?

"Really, it's quite touching. You'll do anything for him!" he yelled, stomping over to the coat rack and hastily put on his suit jacket.

"But-I-we… there's nothing-!..." she tried to explain, but no full sentences came out… there was nothing between her and Sherlock other than friendship… but why couldn't she just say that? "What do you want me to do? Not look after him when he needs me?!" She was getting a bit angry.

"I'll tell you what I want you to do. Don't make me _compete_ with Sherlock Holmes!" he yelled back. Jo-Ann stepped back in shock, but then realized that this is what everyone was saying in London. That they were a couple, that they were secretly dating, and nasty rumors of them kissing on cases when no such thing happened.

"You're reading too many tabloids." She said coldly. Bennett glared at her and mumbled,

"It's over." And left the flat in a huff.

Jo-Ann grumbled and crossed her arms… would anyone believe they weren't a couple?! Mrs. Hudson closed the door and stroked the doctor's' shoulder.

"It's alright dear… he wasn't worth it." She smiled. Jo-Ann smiled back at the old woman and said her thanks. She then went up to her room and changed out of her Christmas dress.

Sherlock slowly walked up to the door of 221B, feeling like he was somehow in a trance. Mixed emotions swarmed the detective's head, emotions he never wished for. His feelings never reached a level above subconscious, so for his mind to be consumed with thoughts that weren't necessary… was new and unpleasant. The door handle turned almost too slowly, the creaking of the old hinges only added to the white noise of everything around him. Each step only became more tiring and heavy then the last. On his way to the flat, Sherlock was tempted multiple times to stop for… _street medications_… but the thought of Jo-Ann searching for him in the middle of Christmas Eve night kept him on the right track. How that doctor managed to captivate his mind so much… it effected every decision he made ever since he met her.

If it wasn't for her, he could very well have been dead by now. She stopped him from taking that pill by shooting down a man without hesitation. She tried to take on the Gollum assassin to save Sherlock's throat. She even was willing to sacrifice her own life for him…

"_Sherlock, run!" Jo-Ann yelled, jumping onto Moriarty's back. She had enough explosives strapped to her chest to destroy the entire building the currently stood. With a sniper's aim_ _fixed directly on her, she grabbed the super villain in hopes to take him down as well. "Run!"_

_Sherlock's feet stayed frozen in their place, they didn't dare leave Jo-Ann behind. He kept his gun pointed at Moriarty's head when he heard that awful, irritating laugh of his._

"_Oh ho ho ho… good! Verrry good!" he chuckled. Jo-Ann's arm wrapped tighter around his neck as she stared at Sherlock, her eyes telling him to get the hell out of there. _

"_If your sniper… pulls that trigger… we both go up!" Jo-Ann whispered to the villain in-between sharp breaths. Why didn't Sherlock run already?! She wasn't worth saving, he was! There was so much good that Sherlock could do that Jo-Ann couldn't dream of… if there was a chance at saving his life, this was it._

_But Sherlock only stared… Why? She was practically signing her soul away just for a chance to save him… Sherlock could have been shot on his way to leave the building, of the sniper with trigger the bomb before he got far enough away. _

_But Jo-Ann was giving up her life… to give a _chance_ of escape to Sherlock Holmes. _

"_Isn't she sweet? I can see why you like having her around…" Moriarty taunted Sherlock, ignoring his current situation. "Then again, people do get so sentimental about their pets."_

She was willing to die for him.

Luckily both of them survived, thanks to someone calling Jim Moriarty before they were all blown to pieces. But when that cursed man called Jo-Ann a "pet"… Sherlock wanted to pull that trigger so badly.

"_But she doesn't love you"_

Why would she sacrifice her life for him if she didn't love him? Why was he thinking about all these things now, anyway? Had he reached his limit of rejection somehow? Maybe it was Ms. Adler's death…

Yes! That had to be it! Irene's death saddened Sherlock enough to go into a state of depressed thinking. It was the Woman's fault!...

"_But… why would I be so upset over that?"_ he thought.

Sherlock didn't realize he had been standing in the doorway to his flat for some time now, and Jo-Ann was standing directly in front of him.

"Sherlock… you okay?" she asked sweetly. Her red cocktail dress was replaced with a bright Christmas jumper and white, comfortable boot cut jeans. Her hair was still down, but a bit messier now that she was relaxed. Sherlock kept staring blankly ahead, and walked around her.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Was all he said, heading back to his bedroom to lock himself inside.

Jo-Ann stood by the bedroom door, her fist threatening to knock… but she decided against it. She ran her hand along her head, and made her way to the kitchen. Maybe some tea would put her mind at ease. She just started to pour water into the kettle when sound seeped out of Sherlock's room.

Violin music could be heard, weaving a sad and broken melody into the heart of the listener.

Jo-Ann stared down the hallway that led to the detective's room, noticing that only darkness was peaking under the door.

Six days passed, it was now New Year's Eve, and Sherlock's condition didn't get any better. He hadn't eaten once, and almost never stopped playing his violin. He only spoke when he was being spoken to, and even then he didn't say anything more than necessary. He bathed every other day, but refused to dress in anything but pajamas and a bathrobe.

Sherlock stood in-between the two living room windows, and started composing a song.

Mrs. Hudson picked up a plate off the coffee table, only to be disappointed that the food on it hadn't been touched. She frowned over at Jo-Ann, who was putting on her coat and frowning as well. Mrs. Hudson carried the plate over to the kitchen as Sherlock paused his melody, and scribbled on blank sheet music next to him.

"Lovely tune Sherlock… I haven't heard that one before." The old woman tried to say cheerfully. Jo-Ann zipped up her jacket, clearing her throat when Sherlock didn't respond to the landlady.

"You composing?" the doctor asked.

"Helps me to think." Sherlock replied in his deep, monotone voice, and started playing his violin again. Jo-Ann sighed, and wrapped her new red scarf tightly around her neck. She stood for a moment, staring at the detective who seemed to shut out the world more than usual.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked quietly, not expecting any response. To her surprise, Sherlock stopped playing immediately, whirling around he pointed his violin bow at her laptop.

"The count on your blog is still stuck at 1,895." He said quickly.

"Er… yes, faulty. I can't seem to fix it." Jo-Ann responded.

"Faulty? Or you've been hacked and it's a message." Sherlock whipped out Irene Adler's camera phone and typed in a guess at the password.

I am

1895

Locked

"huh?" Jo-Ann asked, confused. The phone buzzed with denied access and told Sherlock he had three attempts remaining. If all attempts were used, and failed, the phone's contents would be deleted. Sherlock's face fell, and he slid the phone closed and placed it back in his pocket.

"Just faulty." He told his doctor, picking up his violin once more.

"Right…" Jo-Ann mumbled while continuing to stare at her flatmate. "Well…. I'm going out for a bit."

Sherlock didn't respond, only playing the melody he was writing. Jo-Ann sighed again, and walked towards the door, where Mrs. Hudson stood worried. Jo-Ann grabbed her keys and questioned the old woman.

"Listen… has he ever had… any kind of girlfriend?... or boyfriend even?" she tried to stay calm, but inside, she was pleading for any kind of information that could help… to her knowledge, the reason Sherlock was depressed was because of Irene Adler. "A relationship _ever_?"

"I don't know…" Mrs. Hudson shook her head… the closest thing to a girlfriend of Sherlock's was Jo-Ann as far as the landlady has seen. Jo-Ann looked back at Sherlock, who continued to compose sad music.

"How could _we_ not know?" she asked. Mrs. Hudson and Jo-Ann were by far the closest people to the detective.

"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?" Mrs. Hudson replied sadly. They both looked back at Sherlock at the same time and sighed.

"Right… see you." Jo-Ann said, and left the flat.

To her dismay, Jo-Ann was reminded once again… She would never be on the same level as the genius detective. He wound never reveal his feelings to her no matter how close she was to him… was she even close to him at all?

Every time she thought she was reaching the detective on a different level, a barrier would be put up, and push the doctor back. He had no need for social interaction… so why include Jo-Ann on the matters of his heart?

The doctor huffed out the door, quickly walking to where ever she was going…

"_Where was I going?" _she thought.

"Jo-Ann?" a voice called behind her.

"Yeah?" Jo-Ann turned around. To her surprise it was Anthony, the supposed secretary of Mycroft. He smiled at her, wear a sleek black suit that didn't look like it would protect him from the cold December wind. His short hair seemed a lighter brown then when the last met.

"Oh hello… _hello_" Jo-Ann mumbled, looking over Anthony, who was "eye-candy" in her book.

"So… got any plans for New Year tonight?" he asked, walking a bit closer to her. Jo-Ann tried to hold in her excitement, hoping the handsome gentleman was asking her out.

"Uh-Uh, nothing fixed." She smiled. "Nothing I couldn't heartlessly abandon." Jo-Ann zipped her coat up nervously. "You have… any ideas?" Anthony looked around, and turned back to smile at her.

"One." He purred.

Jo-Ann giggled a little out of shock, but then all her hopes melted away when a shining black car pulled up beside them. Jo-Ann groaned as Anthony tried to hold back a smile.

"You know… Mycroft could just phone me!" She exclaimed, "If he didn't have this… bloody, stupid power complex." She grumbled, climbing into the back of the Sudan. Anthony chuckled and entered the other side.

Thick black tires splashed into a large rain puddle, made by the dark and gloomy clouds that dominated the skies that day. The black Sudan pulled into its location, which happened to be an abandoned power plant.

The combination of the rusting, old, and probably haunted building, and the rainy skies made the situation seem most grim. However, Jo-Ann was used to such treatment by Mycroft Holmes. He chose such obsolete locations every time he met with the doctor, in hopes that Sherlock would not follow.

Jo-Ann stepped out of the car, coughing from the dust of the old room and took in her surroundings. The factory gave off the impression that one could get easily lost in its many hallways and rooms. Every metal gadget or wire was rusted in its place of lying on the ground.

Anthony led Jo-Ann to an upper floor, and walked over a metal bridge that led to the appointed room.

"Why don't we just go to a café?" Jo-Ann asked innocently, trying to match the secretary's pace. "Sherlock doesn't follow me _everywhere_."

At the end of the bridge, Anthony stopped, and started to text on his omnipresent mobile phone.

"Through there." He told Jo-Ann, pointing to a door ahead. Jo-Ann stared for a bit, then silently nodded. As she walked towards the mystery door, Anthony walked back in the direction they came, answering a call.

"She's on her way." Anthony told the caller, "You were right… she thinks it's Mycroft."

Jo-Ann wondered aimlessly into the control room of the abandoned factory. Near the door, there were rows of power gauges and meters that formed walls, stretching down to the end on the giant room. Along the opposite wall there were old control boards and such, but the middle of the room was clear.

"He's writing sad music!" Jo-Ann called into the emptiness. Twirling around to look at her surroundings she continued to report Sherlock's condition to who she thought was Mycroft. "Doesn't eat. Barely talks… only to correct the television. I'd say he was heartbroken…" She stopped twirling and looked forward for the first time. "But, well… He's Sherlock-…"her voiced stopped as her heartbeat became audible in her ears.

"Hi, Doctor Watson." Irene Adler smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

Jo-Ann stared at a woman she thought had been proclaimed dead. Ms. Irene Adler stood before the doctor now, wearing a long black fur coat and high heels to match… her hair in her signature bun.

Jo-Ann stared for a good thirty seconds before she uttered a syllable. She wasn't sure if she was glad the Woman was alive, or if she was upset.

"Did you tell him you're alive?" Jo-Ann asked, surprised her voice found itself.

"He'd come after me." Ms. Adler replied.

"I'll come after you if you don't." the doctor threatened. This was the woman who put Sherlock in his horrible state.

"Oh I believe you." Irene said in her lovely voice.

"You… were dead… on a slab!" Jo-Ann began to yell, "Defiantly you!"

"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep." She replied.

"And I bet you know the record keeper." Jo-Ann glared.

"I know what he likes. And I needed to disappear." Irene crossed her arms.

"Then how come I can see you? I don't even want to." Jo-Ann replied with ice encasing her words. Irene snickered.

"Look, I made a mistake." She waved her arms. "I sent something to Sherlock for safekeeping, and now I need it back. I need your help."

"No." Jo-Ann shook her head. She'd rather walk across a mile of broken glass then help this woman.

"It's for his own safety." Irene tried to reason.

"So is this: Tell him… You're alive." Jo-Ann said firmly.

"I can't."

"Like hell you can't!" the doctor yelled. Irene gulped a bit, but stayed silent… showing no signs of giving in. "Fine." Jo-Ann spat, "I'll tell him. And I still won't help you." She turned around to storm out the door when Irene spoke up.

"What do I say?" She asked innocently. That was it.

"WHAT DO YOU NORMALLY SAY?! YOU'VE TEXTED HIM A LOT!" Jo-Ann yelled full tilt, causing Irene to jump. She stomped back in front of the woman, now full of anger.

"Just the usual stuff." Irene whined, pulling out her small, normal mobile phone. Not the camera phone that Sherlock had.

"There is no usual in this case." Jo-Ann shook her head. Irene sighed, and began reading texts she had sent Sherlock.

"'good morning.' 'I like your funny hat.' 'I'm sad tonight, let's have dinner.'" That was when Jo-Ann's attention was truly caught. "'even sexy crime solvers have dinner.'" She continued. Jo-Ann didn't know why but a new kind of anger rose up in her. "'I'm not hungry… let's have dinner.'" Irene finished. Jo-Ann stared, jaw-dropped, before attempting to answer.

"You… _flirted_… with Sherlock Holmes?..." The words were so unusual for the doctor to say, that it left a weird taste in her mouth. Disbelief seemed to be the only word to sum up her emotions at this point.

"_At _him. He never replies." Irene responded.

"Sherlock always replies. To _everything._ That man would outlive God, trying to have the last word." Jo-Ann stated in all honesty.

"Does that make me special?" Irene smiled. Oh how Jo-Ann wanted to rip that smiled off her face. Then she considered it… Irene was special, wasn't she? After she was proclaimed dead, Sherlock only got more distant as days passed… the night Sherlock woke up from Irene's drug, he was asking for her…

"I don't know… maybe." Jo-Ann answered. Irene smiled and looked back at her phone.

"You jealous?" she teased. The doctor's jaw never ceased to drop at everything sentence this woman was spitting.

"We're not a couple." Jo-Ann argued, though the whole situation was becoming mind boggling.

"Yes you are." Irene stated instantly.

That was finally it. That was the last straw. All the memories of people teasing Jo-Ann and Sherlock over the past seven months resurfaced… and each one replayed in the doctor's mind. Wheels began turning, charging up the anger in her. She had said it so many times, so many freaking times to _every_ person who ever accused her of loving the detective. Her cheeks heated up, and her voice found some kind of angry strength that made her want to scream.

"There. 'I'm not dead, let's have dinner.'" Irene quoted the newly sent text going to Sherlock's phone. Jo-Ann ignored her, and spoke the full extent of what has been on her mind for months.

"Who-Who the hell knows… about Sherlock Holmes… He never says anything about this matter… but for the record… if anyone out there still _cares_…." Jo-Ann closed her eyes and clenched her fists… determined to get the truth through the thick skull that belonged to Ms. Adler,

"I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

The harsh words echoed through the oversized room, leaving a cold layer of air that made the tension thick enough to be sliced with a knife. Irene didn't flinch, and that worried the doctor. Just as Jo-Ann was going to say something, a sound erupted through the abandoned control room.

"Ahh!~"

Irene smiled, as she and Jo-Ann looked in the direction the noise came from. Sherlock's coat swung out of view, and the creaking of the exit shattered the silence. Instantly, Jo-Ann ran towards the same exit, but Irene's gentle hand stopped her in her tracks.

"I don't think he wants to see either of us right now…" she looked back at Jo-Ann, but something in her eyes said that Sherlock's presence was not unexpected to the dominatrix. Immense guilt washed over the doctor, making her shrink in her place. After all this time of telling random people and herself that she didn't love the detective… when she said it with such passion… it broke her own heart.

Jo-Ann pushed past Irene and ran out the exit.

How could she have been so stupid?! Yelling how she felt wouldn't change the Woman's mind. So why did she do it? Did she just reach her breaking point of people not listening? Apparently so… And now she wished that _one_ person didn't hear her.

Huffing deep breaths of cold air, Jo-Ann looked around for any sign of Sherlock. But the only noise she could hear was her own breath, and the only sight was the black Sudan that took her there. Jo-Ann kicked the gravel with angry force, flinging a few small rocks in the air. She tried to calm her breathing as she ran both hands along her dirty blonde ponytail, which was damp from sweat.

"I'm to take you home."

Jo-Ann whirled around to look at Anthony, who appeared from inside the black Sudan, texting on his mobile. Jo-Ann sighed and straightened her coat.

"Right." She mumbled, climbing into the car and awaiting her ride home.

The world spun. It spun around in slow motion circles, noises fading in and out of Sherlock's mind. It grow closer, then backed away… only to grow closer once more, taunting the detective with every movement that was non-existent to anyone else but him. Objects near and far showed no detail, blurred and dull… The boring London city lost color once again, with Sherlock trying to remember how he got there. His feet continued to unconsciously carry him to 221B, not bothering to stop moving when they ached.

"_Why am I so upset, anyway? I don't love Jo-Ann… I don't love her romantically…"_ Sherlock thought… he did love Jo-Ann in a way, but… what way? Hearing her say she didn't love him hurt incredibly bad… but was it because it was telling him once again he couldn't be loved…

Or because he wasn't loved by _her?_

Every thought in Sherlock's mind silenced, however, when he saw the door of 221B had been kicked in. his eyes focused on the door knob and the wood surrounding it… the wood's top layer was broken off, leaving a tan spot standing out from the black paint. The door was open enough to be lightly pushed for full entry. The detective's eyes slowly changed from light blue to grey, as he took in all his surroundings. Sherlock quietly stepped in, trying to remain obsolete to whatever intruder broke into his home. Slowly stepping into the silent flat, he avoided certain floorboards he knew would creak. Mrs. Hudson's door was open, revealing the absent living room. A bucket of cleaning supplies and brushes was left abandoned in the middle of the grey carpet, which was a very unusual sight… Mrs. Hudson never left cleaning supplies out if she was finished… which meant she stopped cleaning suddenly. His brows furrowed at this, as he turned to stairs for any sign of use. Just above the black border that separated the white stairs from the tan wall, were scuff marks. Sherlock ran his skinny fingers over it, and imagined the way they got there. Their placement and shape told the genius that their creator was walking backwards. The fact there were scuff marks at all was a sign of struggle. The marks were made by a man's black dress shoes, expensive ones at that. Sherlock's eye's followed along the edge of the steps, up the wall. A small bit of wall paper was torn, only large enough for a fingertip. He traced the shape of it… then a vision of an elderly hand dragging its nails across the wall invaded his mind. The hand was trying to get away from something, something that was dragging it up the stairs. Sherlock felt anger rise up in him, when a sudden picture flashed in his mind…

Mrs. Hudson being forcefully taken upstairs.

_She grabbed onto the arms of her captor, trying to push and shove out of his grasp. "Sherlock!" she cried, almost breaking down into tears._

Sherlock glared up the stairs, breathing through gritted teeth. Anger turned into fury as he swore to make the man that hurt Mrs. Hudson suffer.

No one messes with his Landlady.

He climbed up the stairs with new determination, making every thought vanish as he focused on his mission. Slowly gliding into the room, his secret fury grew at the sight on Mrs. Hudson having a gun held to her head.

"Oh Sherlock! Sherlock…" she exclaimed, happy but fearful. The man who threatened her life, was the same American that threated Jo-Ann's life two months earlier. His nearly-balding blonde head had an invisible target painted on it as he glared at the detective. Mrs. Hudson began to cry, making Sherlock's heart ache.

"Don't snivel, Mrs. Hudson. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." Sherlock was standing directly in front of them now, glaring at the American. Two other men stood with them, probably for insurance if things got nasty. "What a tender world that would be." He kept his hands behinds his back, trying to appear as relaxed as possible.

"Oh please, save me Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson pleaded quietly, shaking in the chair she sat. The man with the gun to her head and hand on her shoulder finally spoke.

"I believe you have something we want, Mr. Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock asked casually, walking toward to his poor landlady. He held out his hand in front of her, making her cry a bit more and try to grab it with her shaking hands. He allowed her to hold on for a bit before peaking down the green sweater sleeve on her right hand. He squatted in front of her and noticed the bruise that was forming on her wrist.

"We're even asking this one, she doesn't seem to know anything." The man said coldly. The landlady's sweater was ripped at the seams around her shoulder, and a small cut was on her right cheek. Looking at the American's left hand, which held the gun, was a large silver ring that resembled the shape of bricks. It had small blood marks on it, which proved that he was the one that hit the elderly woman.

"But you know what we're asking for… don't you, Mr. Holmes?" the man taunted. Sherlock glance menacingly up at the American, and instead of deducing things about him, he located vital body parts.

"_Carotid Artery, Eyes, Skull, Artery, Ribs, Lungs."_

"I believe I do." Sherlock responded, standing up and putting his hands behind his back once more. "Best get rid of your boys."

"Why?" the horrid man asked.

"I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much _stupid_ in the room." The detective sneered. The man sighed and turned to his helpers.

"You two, go to the car-"

"Then get into the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn't _work_." Sherlock said smooth and quick, making sure the men would fully understand. The two men quietly left the room, making their leader point the gun he threatened Mrs. Hudson with at Sherlock. The detective waited for the men to leave before speaking again.

"Next you can stop pointing that gun at me." He demanded.

"So you can point a gun at me?" the American asked.

"I am unarmed." Sherlock said, holding out his arms to the side.

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh I insist!" Sherlock said cleverly. The man rolled his eyes and walked over to the genius. He kept his gun aimed at Sherlock casually as he opened his coat to check for weapons. The man walked behind Sherlock, patting his back. The detective rolled his eyes and grabbed a cleaning spray off the desk nearby. Whipping around he sprayed the man right in the eyes, causing him to scream in pain. Then with one move, Sherlock grunted as he head-butted the man with extreme force, causing him to pass out instantly.

"Moron." Sherlock said in a deep voice as he re-placed the cleaning spray down on the desk. He hastily rushed over to Mrs. Hudson, and gentle caressed her face.

"Oh thank you!" she said in a shaky voice, to match her shaking hands that grabbed onto Sherlock's coat.

"It's alright… I'm here…" he soothed. Mrs. Hudson nodded, but kept muttering her thanks. Sherlock then turned back to the unconscious American, and started plotting his revenge.

The sleek black Sudan pulled up in front of 221B, dropping off Jo-Ann after running an errand to the grocery store. Picking up her bags of jam and milk, Jo-Ann got out of the car, saying her thanks to Anthony, and walked up to the door of the building she called home. A note on the door stopped the doctor in her tracks. It was stuck underneath the knocker and could be recognized as Sherlock's hand writing.

_Crime in progress. Please disturb._ It read.

Jo-Ann rushed inside, fully closing to the door behind her and setting down her grocery bags. Climbing the stairs, she noticed the door to her flat was wide open.

"What's going on?" she called, walking into the living room. But the sight was _almost_ surprising when you lived with Sherlock. The American man was strapped in the same chair Mrs. Hudson sat earlier, only he was tied and with black tape covering his mouth. His ear piece had been removed, and his nose ran with blood. "What the hell is happening?" Jo-Ann asked.

"Mrs. Hudson has been attacked by an American." Sherlock spoke up from his spot on the couch next to said Landlady, holding the man's gun in one hand and his mobile phone it the other. "I'm restoring balance to the universe." The detective said in all seriousness.

"Oh Mrs. Hudson! My God, are you alright?" Jo-Ann worried, walking over and sitting on the opposite side of the old woman. When she got closer, Jo-Ann could see the bruises forming on the old woman, and the cut on her cheek. The doctor hugged the woman and glared back at the tied up man. "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs. Hudson held her face in her hands and began crying again, making Jo-Ann hold her tighter.

"Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her." Sherlock commanded, standing up from the couch and walking toward the captive. Jo-Ann nodded and helped Mrs. Hudson off the couch as well, trying to calm her down. The landlady started downstairs when Jo-Ann stopped next to Sherlock.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" she asked angrily.

"I expect so. Now go." Sherlock said coldly while still glaring at the American. Jo-Ann breathed in slowly and headed out to door to follow Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock stared down the man who he would make suffer for what he did to his precious Landlady. The person he had been calling for the past few minutes finally picked up.

"Lestrade, We've had a break in as Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Sherlock set down the American's gun on the desk and continued to speak casually. "Oh no, no, no. We're fine. No, it's the uh- it's the _burglar_." The detective turned to glare at the American, who began to sweat. "He's gotten himself rather _badly injured._" The captive didn't have any more than a broken nose… which made the man worry what Sherlock was talking about. "Oh a few broken ribs, fractured skull… suspected _punctured lung_."Sherlock faced him fully now, never once looking away from him. The man stared back at the detective, trying to hold back the fear from reaching the surface.

"He fell out of a window." Sherlock explained, before hanging up on Lestrade.

Jo-Ann gently rubbed Mrs. Hudson's cut cheek with a damp cloth, spreading small bits of anti-bacterial ointment on the wound.

"Oh it stings." The landlady said quietly. The silence continued, before being interrupted by a load crash outside. The sound of something being dropped from an upper floor, and landing violently on two or three unsuspecting trash cans. It caused both women to look towards the draped kitchen window.

"Oh! That was right on my bins!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, as if that was the oddest thing about the situation. Jo-Ann leaned towards to window, and then looked up at the ceiling.

Sirens on an ambulance wailed outside 221B Baker Street, as the injured American agent was rolled inside on a stretcher. The yellow, flashing van drove away, carrying the man to the nearest hospital. Lestrade stood next to a relatively calm Sherlock, and eyed him with curiosity mixed with shock.

"And exactly how many times _did_ he fall out the window?" asked Lestrade, suspecting that wasn't the truth.

"It's all sort of a blur, Detective Inspector… _I lost count_" Sherlock turned to glare at him before continuing to stare blankly ahead. Lestrade's eyes widened as he slightly nodded and backed away slowly.

Sherlock went back inside, meeting Mrs. Hudson and Jo-Ann in the kitchen. After closing the door and with a satisfied feeling, he strolled to the fridge and grabbed an éclair for himself.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight." Jo-Ann spoke up, holding the woman's hand across the small breakfast table. "We have to look after her."

"She's fine…" Sherlock mumbled before taking a bite of his pastry.

"No she's not. Look at her!" Jo-Ann argued. She turned to face her landlady, "You should take some time away from Baker Street… maybe go visit your sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock argued.

"She's in shock, for God's sake! And all over some bloody, stupid camera phone." Jo-Ann was informed of the situation by Mrs. Hudson when Sherlock and Lestrade were outside. "Where is it anyway?"

Sherlock wiped away some cream from his lip before answering.

"Safest place I know." He said, looking down at Mrs. Hudson. She sighed and pulled out the camera phone from her sweater.

"He left it in his dirty laundry, you clot." She laughed handing the phone back to the detective. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, slipping the phone into his coat pocket. "Shame on you, Jo-Ann Watson."

"Shame on me?" Jo-Ann questioned.

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?" he asked dramatically, putting his free hand on the woman's shoulder and bringing her close. "England would fall!"

The landlady laughed, and placed her frail hand on Sherlock's slender one, leaning into her metaphorical son. Jo-Ann's worries melted away, seeing that sight, and she smiled up at Sherlock with all sincerity.

Mrs. Hudson retired to her room for the night, leaving Jo-Ann and Sherlock to retire to their flat as well. Jo-Ann filled a small glass of wine and settled down into her favorite chair by the lit fireplace. Now that the landlady was safe, everything seemed normal and warm again. Sherlock removed his coat, revealing that he was fully dressed in his black suit for the first time in a week.

"Where is the phone now?" Jo-Ann broke the silence. Sherlock swiftly picked up his violin and began tuning it.

"Where no one will look." He replied simply.

"Whatever is on that phone must be more than just pictures." Jo-Ann continued.

"Seems so."

There was a pause as Sherlock fiddled with the violin strings, making sure they were in perfect condition.

"So… she's alive then…" Jo-Ann twirled her wine glass, finding the floor to be very interesting. "How are we feeling about that?"

When no reply came, Jo-Ann looked up at her detective, who just stared out the window. The chiming of the Big Ben clock tower interrupted them, telling everyone the New Year had begun. Sherlock breathed in slowly, and started playing his violin.

"Happy New Year, Jo-Ann."

The melody filled the flat with a joyful tune, relaxing the doctor in her place. She shrugged and sipped her wine… not wishing to spend her holiday anywhere then with Sherlock at 221B.

Irene Adler hugged her fluffy fur coat, walking the streets in central London. Brilliant city lights illuminated every corner of the city, shining on the citizens that stayed out late to celebrate New Year's Eve. A mobile phone's chirp disturbed to Woman's stroll, making her stop to pull it out of her coat pocket. Instantly, she felt her world get brighter, reading the text over and over.

_Happy New Year. -SH_


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey peoples!**

**Well... Enjoy :P**

**please review!**

Sherlock's grey eyes squinted as he focused on the X-ray machine's display monitor. He was scanning Irene's camera phone, looking to see if there was a way to access its contents without the password. In the midst of microchips and minuscule wires, were four dark circles, one at each corner. He would have studied them closer if Molly hadn't interrupted him… which was kind of unavoidable since he was at St, Bart's Hospital.

"Is that a phone?" Molly asked, squinting at the screen as well.

"It's a camera phone." Sherlock answered.

"And you X-raying it?"

While Sherlock could understand her curiosity, he was slowly becoming more annoyed.

"Yes I am." He replied.

"Who's phone is it?"

"A woman's." Sherlock began replying more quickly, hoping the entire conversation would end soon. Molly paused for a moment, feeling the words stick in her throat,

"…Your girlfriend?"

Sherlock leaned away from the screen, pondering her question.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?" was that what couples normally did? Seemed a bit unnecessary…

"Well, we all do silly things." She giggled nervously. Sherlock? Silly? No way… unless it was necessary for a case, which scanning the phone was. Then something clicked in his brain… people do silly things more often than he thought…

"Yes… they do… don't they?" Sherlock slowly turned to Molly, with a slightly happy grin. "Very silly…"

Molly's face became pale as she wondered if he was talking about her. But to her relief, Sherlock quickly got out of his chair and spun around to the X-ray machine. Grabbing Ms. Adler's phone he rambled on his thoughts.

"She sent this to my address… and she loves to play games." Sherlock said absent mindedly, quickly typing in a new password guess.

I am

221B

Locked

Molly's worry grew at his comment, wondering if she waited too long to confess her feelings…

The phone buzzed, telling Sherlock he had only 2 attempts left. Sherlock growled and pocketed the phone angrily.

"Sh-she does?" Molly asked, flustered. The detective ignored her and put the phone back in the machine for further inspection. Molly was still confused about the whole situation… and found herself repeating a question.

"So that is your girlfriend's phone?" she asked. Sherlock groaned a bit and answered without thinking.

"No, Jo-Ann would never let my X-ray her phone."

"What?!" Molly asked in shock. Where the rumors true?! Sherlock's eyes widened a bit at what he just said… did he really just call Jo-Ann his girlfriend?

"Uh-no that's…not…" seeing no way out of the situation, Sherlock grabbed his belongs along with the camera phone. "Thank you Molly." He said calmly as he walked out the door.

Molly stood in the now empty lab, frozen in shock. Why didn't she see it before? The two flatmates spent nearly every moment together… everyone who ever say the two together couldn't deny that there was something there. Slowly, the pathologist felt her heart ache.

Sherlock arrived back at the flat, thinking about what he said and why he said it… after all, Jo-Ann could never be his girlfriend… right?

He shook his head and took off his coat as soon as he entered the living room of their flat, but he kept the camera phone on his person by putting it in his suit jacket. He froze in his tracks, though, when he heard the slight banging of an open window. Sherlock looked up slowly, walking in the direction of the noise. The window in the bathroom was unlatched, and swinging open… suggesting there was another intruder. Yet this intruder had to be considerably smaller then that American man. Sherlock backed away and started towards his bedroom, hearing Jo-Ann enter the flat and set down some shopping bags she was carrying.

"Sherlock?" she called, looking down the hallway to see Sherlock through the door frame, staring intently at something.

"Jo-Ann?... we have a client." He answered. Jo-Ann's face took on a look of confusion as she took off her coat and walked over to Sherlock.

"Where? In the bedroom?" she chuckled. But coming into the said room, she also stared at what the detective had been looking at.

There, on Sherlock's large bed, laid a sleeping Irene Adler, cuddling the sheets.

Her appearance was more casual than normal, with her wavy brown hair out from the bun and spreading all over her shoulders. She was wearing a plain light green, long sleeved shirt and denim jeans that fit her snuggly.

"Oh…" Jo-Ann said out of slight shock. "That's… unusual…"

Sherlock only stood there, formulating a plan… but seeing her sleep somehow made the detective want to leave her be.

"Come on Jo-Ann… let's leave her to get some rest." He said, tugging on the doctor's arm, against her protests, and closed the bedroom door behind them.

Jo-Ann carried two cups of coffee to the living room, one was black with two sugars, and the other had a good bit of cream in it. The doctor handed the black coffee to Sherlock, who was staring out the window again. He took it, but after the first sip, he seemed to forget he had it. Jo-Ann sighed and sat down in her favorite chair, delighting in the warm and creamy taste of her coffee. But her happiness faded away, staring at her detective that looked so distant. Why was he acting like this now? Irene was not only alive, but she was just a room away. Instincts told the doctor that something else was wrong.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jo-Ann set down her coffee and got up from her chair. Steps seemed like miles as she approached the detective from behind, preparing her mind for any jabs or insults he would make. She stood behind him, just far enough away. If she didn't look upwards, her eyes would be lined up with his shoulder blades. Clearing her throat, she finally spoke.

"Sherlock?"

The detective's ears twitched. No matter how confused he was about her, no matter how mad or upset he could be at her… he always enjoyed the way she said his name. Sherlock turned his head back, just enough to see her. Her hair was down again, brushed neatly and parted to the side. She wore a dark blue sweater, slightly framing her curves, with black skinny jeans.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked back at the window. Did he want to tell her the truth? It had been bothering him for some time, all the strange thoughts. But he didn't want Jo-Ann to know… he couldn't tell her.

"That's not really your concern is it?" Sherlock asked coldly. Crap… he didn't intend to say that… or say it that harshly.

"You can bet your ass it's my concern." Jo-Ann said firmly, putting her hands on her hips. Sherlock's eyes widened, shocked at her reaction. He turned around slowly, eyeing her with confusion. She stared at him aggressively, suggesting she wanted him to spill the beans. The detective found himself gulping nervously, staring into her deep blue eyes.

"Why is it your concern?" he managed to ask.

"Because I care about you and your wellbeing is my top priority." Jo-Ann answered. It was true, she hated seeing him like this, and she was determined to fix it any way she could.

"Why? Because _Mycroft_ asked you to take care of me?" Sherlock snorted. Jo-Ann's face fell at his remark… Mycroft asked Jo-Ann to report Sherlock's condition to him, willing to pay her a significant amount of money, but she refused at first… after Sherlock said it was fine, Jo-Ann took up the offer and, as Mycroft promised, was paid to tell him the little things about Sherlock's life… if he was eating and small things like that. Jo-Ann felt angry at the fact that Sherlock assumed that was the only reason she cared.

"What?! How dare you say that! You're the one said it was ok-"

"But it's the only reason you care, isn't it?" Sherlock held his hands behind his back, and began walking towards the doctor… causing her to step back when he got too close. "Let's face it… you're here for no reason other to be my assistant. The only reason you do that is because you get off on danger and Mycroft _pays_ you." He breathed. Jo-Ann stopped walking backwards then, making the detective stop as well. They stood close together, but glares were the only thing that was being exchanged between them. Jo-Ann breathed heavily through her nose, anger rising at a surprising rate. How dare he think that was her only reason! She was going to argue back, when an idea struck her. If she wanted to say how she felt… why not prove it?

"… We're going out." Jo-Ann stated, walking away from Sherlock to get their coats. The detective did a double take at her.

"What?"

"I said we're going out." Jo-Ann told him, handing him his long black coat and scarf. Sherlock took them, but was still greatly confused.

"Where? What about the Woman?" he asked. Jo-Ann zipped up her tan jacket, and wrapped her red scarf around her neck.

"You'll see, and Adler is sleeping now anyway so I don't think she'll miss us." Jo-Ann smiled, grabbing a very confused Sherlock and running out the door.

"A Carnival?" Sherlock asked with complete annoyance. Of all the places Jo-Ann could have taken him, she took him to a loud, bright center of small children, messy food, and unfair games that nearly robbed you due to deception and self-determination. Sherlock felt slight disgust and wished to go home immediately. Turning around, he began to do just that. Jo-Ann quickly grabbed his arm and swung him around.

"Come on Sherlock! We're gonna have some fun!" she chuckled, dragging him over to the cotton candy stand.

"Not unless there's a murder." Sherlock mumbled. Jo-Ann ignored him and ordered a blue cotton candy for the both of them. She took a few bites, and smiled at the sweet taste. Sherlock eyes her cautiously…

"What's so amazing about colored sugar?" he asked. Jo-Ann didn't look at him; she just gazed down at the fluffy candy wrapped around a white paper cone. Her eyes took on a softness, much to the detective's surprise.

"You know… I don't like many sweet things…" She continued to stare at the candy as they walked through the sunset lit park. "But I've always loved cotton candy… I used to have it all the time, when my da' would take me to amusement parks and things like that…" she looked up at Sherlock and smiled, "I love memories like that."

Sherlock had a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but refrained. Why was she doing this? There was no purpose to this trip… or sharing little memories of no logical value… he wanted to ask why, but was interrupted by Jo-Ann holding the cotton candy to him. He fought the urge to decline and took a small piece. The two finished eating and rode a few rides. Sherlock was skeptical, saying that it was just a contraption to stimulate adrenaline, but Jo-Ann pulled him on anyway.

After riding a few, Jo-Ann wanted to play some of the Carnivals games. Walking around the pathways of the fair, Sherlock scoped them out from a distance.

"_Nope, oversized bottle necks are too large for those rings… nope, balls are too light to knock down the cans… oh that game wouldn't work…" _he thought. Jo-Ann tugged on the sleeve of his coat, catching his attention.

"What about that one?" she asked, pointing to a squirt gun game. They walked over to it, letting Sherlock get a closer view.

"_Small target, yet small water stream… possible success with steady aim," _

"This one is possible." Sherlock answered. Jo-Ann giggled and handed the game vendor the money to play. The doctor took a seat on one of the red stools and patted the seat next to her for Sherlock. He smirked and sat down.

The two looked at each other competitively as the countdown began to start the game. The bell rang loudly, signaling the start. Jo-Ann fired at the target with intensity, while the detective had a late start… being distracted by doctor's mischievous smile.

Jo-Ann claimed her victory, pumping a fist into the air as the victory siren rang. Sherlock hit the surface of the counter in anger of his loss. The doctor was about to pick her prize when Sherlock spoke up.

"Again." He told her. Jo-Ann did a double take, he actually wanted to play… she smiled and told the vendor to set them up for another round. The points Jo-Ann received were saved, giving the opportunity to win a bigger prize. Sherlock readied himself, full of determination, making Jo-Ann laugh to herself. The game started, only this time, Sherlock was fully prepared and got a head start. It was a very close call, but Jo-Ann still claimed victory. Sherlock breathed in slowly, tilting his head to refrain from pounding the counter again.

"Need I remind you I was in the army? You've seen my steady shooting before." Jo-Ann chuckled. "Wanna try again?" she asked. Sherlock nodded, he was obviously bent on beating the doctor at the silly carnival game.

They played two more times, each time Jo-Ann winning once again. The third time was different though… the siren rang loudly, telling all the people around that Sherlock was the winner this time.

"Yes!" he shouted, jumping up from his seat and raising his arms. Then realization hit him. He looked down at Jo-Ann… She stared at him with a large smile and soft eyes, holding her chin with her palm and leaning on the counter with her elbow. Crap… she got him to be happy over a silly game. Sherlock cleared his throat and lowered his arms, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Luckily the crowd moved on normally, but the game vendor crossed his arms and smiled.

"You two make quite a pair." The vendor chuckled.

Normally, Sherlock wouldn't have said anything, but after hearing Jo-Ann shout at Irene with such intensity, he didn't want to hear her say it again…

"um… no we're not-" Sherlock began to object his time, but was interrupted by his doctor.

"Yes we do, don't we?" Jo-Ann laughed.

Sherlock froze for a moment, before slowly turning to face her. She got up from her seat and asked the vendor what prizes they could pick, ignoring the detective's stare. The vendor let Jo-Ann pick a large prize and one small one, while Sherlock got one small one. Jo-Ann picked a large plush monkey and a small penguin toy. It was Sherlock's turn to pick a toy, although he wasn't the least bit interested. He glanced over the selection, nothing really standing out. On a whim, he selected a brown stuffed dog.

The two walked throughout the carnival as night fell, Jo-Ann listening to Sherlock deduce several strangers from a distance. The doctor would crack a joke, making the detective laugh a bit. It felt nice, to have her by his side and just being with him. But it made him wonder… why?

The last ride that was at the carnival was the large and colorfully lit Ferris wheel. It was no London Eye, but it was in good condition for a carnival. Sherlock and Jo-Ann climbed into one of the many small, enclosed passenger cars and took off on the circular trip. Jo-Ann smiled brightly, pointing out different sights from their view, laughing once when she saw a child playing with their parents. Sherlock didn't take in the view like her though… he was too captivated _by_ her. The lights from below their car illuminated the small space between them, brightening every feature on the doctor's face. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with intensity that would challenge the starry sky that rested above them. Jo-Ann turned to look at him, making her hair swing in a circular motion and framing her face. Her cheeks became rosy at the sight of him, making her smile more. Sherlock felt his breath hitch, feeling all cares melting away… but the whole reason for this trip, was still unknown… making the detective worry more and more. After a short silence, Sherlock finally asked the question.

"Why are you doing this?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey guys! I am sooooooo SORRY! i have been away for a while so i haven't had time to write :( but here is chapter 15 and i hope you like it! **

**please reveiw! **

"What?" Jo-Ann asked Sherlock. She knew why she was doing this… but she thought maybe he had figured it out.

"People don't just… hang around me…" Sherlock turned away from her and looked at the view that she did moments before. The doctor's eyes softened at Sherlock's expression… he never had a real friend before, did he?

"Sherlock…" Jo-Ann said quietly, turning in her chair to face him fully. "Do you know why I live with you? Or why I'm your assistant?" she stared at him intently, leaning forward on her lap with her elbows and intertwining her fingers. Sherlock glanced in her direction, and looked back through the window of the Ferris wheel car. He attempted to answer,

"Because Mycroft-"

"Get that shitty idea out of your head." Jo-Ann interrupted. Sherlock looked at her abruptly, slowing turning his body to face her as well. He leaned back in his seat and nodded for her to continue to explain. Jo-Ann looked down and shook her head, smiling.

"Let me remind you, that the first time Mycroft offered me money to look after you, I refused." She looked back up at him. "I was perfectly happy to just be with you."

"Why?" Sherlock asked coldly. Jo-Ann scoffed, leaning up to sit back.

"Oh take a good guess, Sherlock."

"I prefer for you to just tell me this time."

The two stared into each other's eyes, rivaling staring contest records everywhere. Without breaking the gaze, Jo-Ann gave him his answer.

"I like you, Sherlock. I like your ability to deduce, I like how you practically know everything except the solar system, and I like that you use these abilities to help the police."

Sherlock nodded with everything she said, but didn't hear anything he didn't already know.

"Perfectly logical admiration." Sherlock replied simply, as Jo-Ann looked down at her hands that rested on her lap. "But I must admit that I already-"

"I like your eyes."

Sherlock almost did a double take at Jo-Ann's confession. She didn't look up at him; she just fiddled with her fingernails and continued.

"I like the way they change color when you're serious about something." Sherlock's eyes changed from a very light blue to a stunning grey when he was making a deduction. "I like your unorthodox ways of investigation. I like that you don't care what people think about you when you're on a case. I like that you flip your coat collar up to make you look cool." She laughed a bit at that, while Sherlock just stared in awe. Jo-Ann looked up at him now, her expression remaining firm. "The first time I met you, I instantly knew that I was going to be with you for a very long time. Without Mycroft, without Lestrade, and without any kind of crime cases…" Jo-Ann paused and gulped down the lump in her throat, and made her apology. "… What I said to Adler… or what I constantly say to people we know about not-… being a couple… I just want you to know that it doesn't mean I don't like you. It just means that we aren't dating… saying that I didn't love you was…" she cleared her throat, "A lie. I mean I don't love you romantically but- ye-..Yeah." She finished quietly, cheeks burning in the dim light.

Sherlock was speechless. Every worry he had about her, every bad feeling or doubt… just vanished with every sentence Jo-Ann spoke.

How could he have thought she didn't care for him? Even if it was only friendship, that was all that was needed. The quotes of hers that hurt him faded away, and were replaced with all the good things… the things he failed to think of for two weeks. Her voice suddenly filled his head, repeating the things he loved to hear her say:

"_That… Was… Amazing." "Of course, it was extraordinary, Sherlock, it was quite extraordinary." "It's brilliant." "That's fantastic!" "He is the most amazing man you'll ever meet!" "I want to help" "Don't… call him a freak… ever." "Fantastic!" "That's… clever." "Let him go… or I WILL kill you." "Sherlock run!" "That was outstanding!" "You still don't cease to amaze me." "You're just what I needed, Sherlock." "He is that good." "I'm glad you're so brilliant, Mr. Holmes." "Oh Sherlock! I love it!"_ _"Because I care about you and your wellbeing is my top priority." "I like you, Sherlock." _

This was Jo-Ann, the _real_ Jo-Ann… The doctor that changed his life and took over a small part of his mind. She changed his thinking, the way he treated people, and helped him understand patience better. She may not have been a genius herself, but she inspired greatness. Hearing her comments or ideas triggered something in the detective's mind that made him think of things he hadn't before. She made sure he ate, worked to pay the bills, was a tremendous help on cases by gathering data for him, and ran all over London if he needed _anything, _no matter how ridiculous.

This was his doctor. _His _Doctor.

Sherlock gasped quietly, realizing he wasn't breathing. Before anything more could be said between the two, their turn on the Ferris wheel was coming to an end. The ride attendants helped Jo-Ann out of the car and tipped their hats, wishing them a good night. Jo-Ann carried the stuffed monkey, while Sherlock held the two smaller toys in one arm. The two walked for a short time, towards the exit, before Sherlock spoke up.

"That-um… that thing you said earlier…" he began shakily, yet catching her attention. "It was… very… good…" he wiped his nose with his thumb and avoided looking directly at her. Jo-Ann couldn't help the giant smile that crept on her face, making her laugh a bit. She slipped her hand through Sherlock's free arm, letting them walk side by side back to Baker Street.

Sherlock and Jo-Ann casually walked into their flat, laughing up a storm after the entertaining walk home. The doctor set down the toys they won at the carnival and began taking off her coat, when a smooth and sultry voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Well… aren't you two having fun?" Irene said calmly. Jo-Ann cringed a bit when she remembered Ms. Adler was waiting at the flat with a long trail of drama probably dragging behind her. Jo-Ann cleared her throat and finished taking off her coat and scarf, placing both on the arm of the sofa.

"Yes we are… why are you here?" the doctor asked coldly. Both Sherlock and Irene noticed her tone and were slightly shocked, but tried not to show it. The detective took off his coat and walked near the dominatrix that sat in Jo-Ann's chair, much to his disliking.

"Why don't we pick this up in the morning? You can take my room." Sherlock suggested. Jo-Ann felt a bit of relief that she might be able to sleep before the situation escalated. But her relief soon disappeared when Irene smiled and stood up, a little too close to her detective.

"You mean of course… sharing your room?" she said seductively. Sherlock gulped quietly, but regained his composure. Jo-Ann however was losing her composure as she felt the impulsive to slap the woman.

"I prefer the couch." Sherlock answered. Irene's smile faded as she pouted.

"Oh very well… goodnight Mr. Holmes." She cooed, not even looking at Jo-Ann as she exited to Sherlock's room. Both the doctor and detective took a sigh of relief and looked at each other.

"Looks like we're in for a load of trouble in the morning." Jo-Ann chuckled. Sherlock smirked along with his doctor.

"Good night, Jo-Ann."

Jo-Ann walked over to the door, placing her hand on the door frame and turned back to her detective.

"Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock's Mind Palace had many rooms, each room filled with a certain topic of information. Some rooms, special ones, held information of certain people. Mrs. Hudson had the kitchen, Lestrade had one of the studies, and Mycroft had the moldy cellar… Memories of Violet Holmes where stored in the music room… but Jo-Ann…

Jo-Ann had the Ballroom.

The Ballroom was the largest room second to the Throne Room. The Ballroom was where the parties were held, where extravagant dances and new relationships formed. The most beautiful decorations where there, making every corner shine in crystal, diamond, and gold. Luscious red velvet surrounded every window's frame, making the starry night outside even more beautiful. The dance floor was polished and shining; the tan and brown diamond pattern added to the brilliance. Violin would fill the background noise, playing a song that Sherlock was never able to identify.

The Mind Palace's Ballroom had all these things, but there were some additions.

Walking into the grand room, the first thing you would notice wouldn't be decorations, or the shining lights, or violin playing… It would be the smell of warm hazelnut coffee. The scent would flood the senses in blissful delight, almost sweeping you off your feet. The second thing you would probably notice would be the images flowing through the entire room.

These images could be pictures, or more often than not, memories of scenes starring the doctor. Each memory was surrounded in a golden glow, encasing the scene in a bubble like form. Hundreds of them floated about the Ballroom, creating the overlapping sound of Jo-Ann's voice. Each day created new memories, adding to the stock of the Ballroom. Every once in a while, if he was lucky, Sherlock would see Jo-Ann in the Ballroom corner. She would lounge on a plush sofa, drinking her coffee or reading the newspaper. The first time he saw her in his Mind Palace like that, he tried to speak to her to see if she was real. But she didn't answer; she kept sipping her coffee. That made him realize that it was a memory, just like the ones floating in the rest of the room, only this one took the form of Jo-Ann's being instead of a spherical orb.

Sherlock would often visit the Ballroom in his free time; it kept him from going mad most days. Hazelnut scent and the warm memories of his doctor calmed his mind like nothing else could. There where memories floating in that room that showed her fierceness and strength, which somehow always seemed to bring him joy. Her smile, her eyes, the way she spoke, her entire essence filled that room, lighting up the whole castle in soft light… a castle that was once dark, and abandoned.

Yes… The Ballroom was by far Sherlock's favorite room in his Mind Palace.

Jo-Ann tossed and turned in her bed, thousands of thoughts running through her mind and wreaking havoc. Irene Adler was the center of her current problems… flirting with Sherlock and putting all three of them in danger. The woman broke into their flat three times now according to Sherlock… not that their flat was a maximum security enabled house, but really… three times?! Plus all her texting was constantly annoying Jo-Ann more and more. Did Sherlock reply to those messages? He never said… if he _was_ texting her back….

Why did that make Jo-Ann angry?

The doctor sighed loudly, sitting up from her sleeping position. She ran her fingers through her messy hair, thinking of ways to kill time. Deciding she was a little thirsty, Jo-Ann climbed out of bed… not bothering to put on a robe over her loose tank top and shorts. After all, Sherlock should be sleeping.

Each step creaked quietly under the doctor's feet, thankfully too quiet to wake anyone up. She peaked through the door of the flat to see if she was alone… at first sight, she was. Jo-Ann yawned as she entered the living room, scratching her head. She noticed Sherlock, not sleeping, but in his Mind Palace on the couch. She rolled her eyes and continued to the kitchen.

"Isn't he cute like that?"

Jo-Ann jumped at the voice of Irene, who was leaning on the kitchen counter and holding her chin in her right hand. The doctor placed a hand on her chest to calm her heartbeat, the dominatrix was supposed to be sleeping.

"What are you doing up?" Jo-Ann breathed, walking around Irene to get a glass of water.

"Oh I couldn't sleep…" Irene began, leaning up from the counter and turning around to face the doctor. "Besides, anything I could dream about is on that sofa." She glanced over to Sherlock, and then back to Jo-Ann. Jo-Ann stopped in her tracks, looking over to the woman who made her doubt her hearing. Dream… of Sherlock?... Jo-Ann cleared her throat awkwardly, setting down her water glass and crossing her arms.

"You wanna know something, Ms. Adler?" she asked with no intention of getting a response. Irene tilted her head to the side, but not with any kind of innocence.

"Back off." Jo-Ann said with frosty lips. Irene leaned back a bit, surprised at the doctor's coldness. She continued anyway. "I'm not about to let you near my-… Sherlock." Jo-Ann caught herself and tried to recover. "Anyway, when this is all over… do me a favor and stay gone." She finished harshly and began walking around the woman. But Adler wasn't about to let someone speak to her like that.

"And what makes you think I'm going to listen to you?" Irene threatened. Watson turned around slowly, eye her with suspicion. "Haven't you heard, dear? I don't give up on things I want. And you want to know something else, Ms. Watson?" Irene crossed her arms this time, mocking what the doctor did moments ago. Jo-Ann stared at her firmly, preparing for any insults that could be dished out. Living with Sherlock, she had to do that every morning anyway. Irene leaned forward and spoke slowly, as if to insult the doctor's intelligence.

"You're boring."

Jo-Ann tilted her head at this… that was it? Not quite.

"Sherlock's mind only focuses on things that are interesting… ongoing and changing. But you… you've been the same, _dull_ woman all this time you've been with him." She continued in a sing-song voice, "One day he'll get tiered of you~" she sang quietly enough to not disturb the thinking detective in the next room. "And when he does…" Irene walked closer to Jo-Ann,

"…I will take him from you."


	16. Chapter 16

**I had to edit this chapter ^_^' thank you HarnGin for pointing out my mistake! **

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**Hey Guys, sorry I'm not updating as often as when the story started... School began on Monday so I've been kinda busy. But I'll try to update as quickly as possible :) Enjoy and please review!**

**(and thank you to Christine Eponine for inspiration!)**

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Chapter 16

"What are you doing?" Sherlock squinted at the sight before him. Just a few moments before, he woke from his mind palace to find two tense women on the living room floor. Jo-Ann held an ice pack to her eye, sitting cross legged on the floor in her loose tank top and shorts. Irene sat with her legs laid elegantly off to the side, wearing her red nightgown… but stuffing bits of tissue paper up her bloody nose. While the scene was strange on its own… it was also two o'clock in the morning.

"Oh you know how girls are." Irene said playfully, in a slightly different voice now that her nose was stuffed. Within a second, Jo-Ann replied bluntly.

"No he doesn't." she said without looking at the detective. "Even if he did, I seriously doubt we are average girls." She glared at Irene.

"_One _of us is average." Irene countered.

"Average is better than insane." Jo-Ann replied. The two continued to bicker, leaving a very confused and somewhat tired Sherlock to watch. Tuning out of what they were arguing about and bored of the entire situation, he spoke up.

"Oh do shut up, both of you! Avoid further injury and self-esteem-destroying remarks and go to bed already!" the detective then rolled over to face the back of the couch and curled up in his angry position. Jo-Ann and Irene stopped immediately. Glancing at each other one last time, the two sneered and made their way to their own rooms.

* * *

"So… Who's after you?" Sherlock asked the dominatrix, setting down his coffee on the desk. All three of the flat's occupants sat in the morning lit living room, trying to discuss what to do next for Irene Adler.

"People who want to kill me." Irene answered.

"Who's that?" Sherlock continued firmly.

"…Killers." Ms. Adler replied cleverly. The detective and doctor shared an eye roll, urging Jo-Ann to speak.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific." She said harshly.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them?" Sherlock continued despite the woman's vague answers.

"It worked for a while." Said Irene.

"_Faking a death…. A bit difficult when you tell someone you're alive. But with proper execution… it could be useful…_

_Down for future reference." _

"Except you let Jo-Ann know that you were alive, and therefore me." Sherlock said in his deep voice.

"I knew _you_ would keep my secret…" Irene shot a small glare at the doctor next to Sherlock, "but it was a mistake telling that one."

Jo-Ann was about to raise her voice when Sherlock interrupted.

"You couldn't keep your own secret."

"But you did… didn't you?" the woman replied. Silence fell upon the three, only to be broken by the person that caused it.

"Where's my camera phone?" Irene asked.

"It's not here… we're not stupid." Jo-Ann answered, setting down her cup of coffee next to Sherlock's.

"And just what have you done with it? If you've got it, they'll be watching you." Irene warned.

"If they'd be watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank in the strand a few months ago." Sherlock's face read the pure emotion of bored as he spoke.

"I need it." Irene insisted.

"Well we can't just go and get it, can we?" Jo-Ann took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock. "Molly Hooper… she could collect it? If _you _ask of course." Irene did a quick look between the two, her expression asking if there was yet _another_ woman interested in Sherlock. "Or one of your homeless network could bring it here… leave it in the café." Sherlock listened to Jo-Ann's lengthy plan with amusement. "And one of the boys could bring it up in the back."

"Very good, Jo-Ann. Excellent plan." Sherlock smiled. "Full of intelligent precautions."

"Thank you." Jo-Ann huffed in slight satisfaction. "You've already got the bloody phone, don't you." She said with her now normal, annoyed face. Sherlock shot a quick smile and pulled out the camera phone from his suit jacket. Jo-Ann sighed and went back to drinking her coffee.

"So what do you keep on here?" Sherlock asked Irene, who was now slowly rising from her seat. "In general, I mean." Irene crossed her arms, standing in front of the fire place and facing the two.

"Pictures. Information. Anything I might find useful."

"For blackmail?" Jo-Ann suggested instantly.

"For _protection._" Irene corrected. "I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people who will be on my side… exactly when I need them to be."

"Wouldn't it be easier to be a gold digger? Or have you tried that?" Jo-Ann said quietly, hiding her smile with her coffee cup. Irene shot a glare before turning back to the detective.

"So how do you acquire this 'information'?" Sherlock asked.

"I told you… I misbehave." Adler replied playfully.

"But you've acquired something more dangerous than protective. Do you know what it is?" the detective continued.

"Yes… but I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me." Sherlock said firmly. Irene was silent for a bit, but held out her hand to receive her camera phone. Sherlock held the phone back, twirling it a little.

"The pass code?" he asked. Irene Adler said nothing, still holding out her hand. Sherlock sighed quietly and got up from his chair. Handing her the phone, she took it quickly and slid the phone open. She showed a quick playful look as she tilted the phone so no one else could see. Entering the passcode, she smiled. But her smile faded when the phone buzzed with denied access.

"That's weird… It's not working."

"No, because it's a duplicate that I had made." Sherlock said quickly, swiping the fake phone and getting out the real one. "Into which you've just entered the numbers 1058." Jo-Ann smiled to herself at the detective's clever ways while Sherlock enter the supposed passcode into the real phone. "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that… but thanks anyway."

I

Am

1058

Locked

Irene re-crossed her arms and smiled once again… which worried the doctor. The phone buzzed and said Sherlock had one attempt remaining. The detective's face fell as he looked back at the dominatrix.

"I told you that camera phone was my life…" her voice rang of both beauty and cleverness. "I know when it's in my hands."

Sherlock frowned, placing the fake phone back in his pocket and the real on to the woman. Irene Adler has proven to be a… _almost_… equal opponent… in whit and acting.

"You're rather good…" Sherlock admitted, making Jo-Ann's senses perk up.

"You're not so bad." Irene tilted her head. Jo-Ann's nose scrunched up, trying to comprehend if Irene was being normal… or if it was a _mutual_ flirt.

The two stared at each other for a bit… Irene was smiling, and Sherlock was not looking with total disgust… but rather… interest.

"_Was he actually interested?! Are they mind-communicating or something?! What the hell am I doing just sitting here?! Say something!" _the thoughts screamed in her head as she frantically thought of something to say.

"Heather!" she shouted randomly. The detective and dominatrix both looked at the doctor instantly, making Jo-Ann realize that was out loud. "…Jo-Ann Heather… Watson…" she said sheepishly, her face and ears growing hotter. "Just… if you're… looking for… baby names…" she trailed off turning to her computer.

"_What the *BLEEP* was THAT?! Real smooth Jo-Ann! Bringing up something as suggestive as BABY NAMES."_ Her thoughts betrayed her. Sherlock's brow furrowed, probably thinking the same thing as his doctor. Irene held in her laugh and changed the subject.

"There was a man." She began, walking around to the other side of the detective as she explained. "An M.O.D. official, and I knew what he liked."

"Funny how all your stories start out with that…" Jo-Ann stated quietly. Irene casually stopped by the couch and ignored Jo-Ann's comment.

"One of the things he liked was showing off." Irene unlocked her camera phone and pulled up an e-mail. "He told me this e-mail was going to save the world. I took a photograph of it since he was a bit… _tied up_ at that moment." She handed the phone to Sherlock, who took a seat next to the desk. He stared at it intently. "It's a little small on that screen. Can you read it?"

"Yes." He answered. The e-mail read "007 Confirmed allocation." And at the bottom was a long line of random numbers and letters.

"Code, obviously." Irene stated.

"_Isn't that Sherlock's line?" _Jo-Ann thought to herself.

"I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it…" Irene said, leaning with her arms on a nearby chair. "Although he was mostly upside down, as I recall…" Jo-Ann's eyes darted around as she tried to get that image out of her head. "Couldn't figure it out." Irene finished. Sherlock stared at the screen, analyzing every detail and character, committing it to memory. Irene's eyes locked on him, making her smile. "What can you do, Mr. Holmes?" she leaned towards him, while Jo-Ann sipped her coffee. "Go on…" she leaned in closer…

"Impress me."

Her lips slowed down as the reached for his cheek; Jo-Ann's coffee slowed while going down her throat.

Sherlock began deciphering the code, making the letters switch places until they made a pattern. Thousands of patterns zoomed by, rivaling the speed of the best computers _"ABC…DEFG…HJK" _the groups of letters were placed in white boxes, arranged in the seating pattern of a 747. The conclusion was obvious, and concluded before Irene's lips caressed his cheek, and Jo-Ann spit up her coffee.

The doctor coughed into a napkin as Sherlock made a face at Irene's gesture.

"There's a 747 leaving tomorrow from Heathrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to 'save the world'. I'm not sure how that could be true, but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds." Sherlock said in the amount of time it took for Irene to stand up from her leaning position. Jo-Ann stared at her detective in shock, while holding a coffee stained napkin to her lips. Ms. Adler stared at him as well, but with complete admiration.

"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look—" he handed the phone to Jo-Ann, "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a one. No letters past 'K', because within the plane, that's the limit. The numbers always appear rounded in, not in sequence. But the letters are in sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo jet is wide enough to need a letter 'K', or rows past fifty-five. Which is why there is always an upstairs. There is a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines." Sherlock began staring straight ahead, his mouth continuing automatically. "Then there is the start of the e-mail, the flight number 007, which eliminates a few more. I'm assuming a British point of origin. Which would be logical considering the original source of the information. And assuming from the increased pressure on you, Lady," He referred to Irene. "For the crisis is imminent. The only flight that matches all the criteria into parts within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow airport." Sherlock finished. The two women stared in awe, and trying to remember what he said with how fast he spoke. He stood up, in front of Irene. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. Jo-Ann has expressed that with every possible variant known to the English language." He glanced at his doctor, who slowly closed her mouth. Irene's eyes never left the genius man who she swore to catch before nightfall.

"I would have you, right here on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice." Irene said seductively, putting emphasis on the word 'twice'.

Both Sherlock and Jo-Ann stared for a good five seconds, trying to determine if what Ms. Adler just said actually left her mouth. It did. Sherlock suppressed the slight blush threatening his cheeks and spoke to Jo-Ann.

"Jo-Ann, can you please check those flight schedules? See if I'm right." He asked. Jo-Ann's eyes darted between the two, with her face glowing red. After a small pause, she answered.

"Y-yeah… I'm on it…. Yeah." She said sheepishly. Sherlock continued to stare at the dominatrix, who was still staring back.

"I never beg for mercy, woman." He said coldly.

"Twice." Irene assured. Jo-Ann cleared her throat, trying to get someone's attention.

"Uh, yeah. You're right." She told Sherlock. "um, flight double O' seven." She stared at the two again. Sherlock, looking a bit shocked, slowly turning to her.

"What did you say?"

"You're right."

"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" he asked intently.

"Double O' seven. Flight double O' seven" Jo-Ann confirmed. Sherlock began repeating the phrase over and over, making the two women worry. Irene's eyes focused on a pacing Sherlock, but the hand behind her back was busy. She typed a message to an unknown recipient. Dealing with so many secrets, the woman learned how to type from all kinds of angles.

_747 tomorrow 6:30 PM Heathrow_

The message sent, crossing radio waves and cell phone signals to a location in central London.

Jim Moriarty, walking the streets, pulled out his phone from his jacket. The text was read, and severely enjoyed by the consulting criminal. His lips twisted into a smile, making his aviator sunglasses raise.

"007 007… what… what?!" Sherlock stopped pacing, and quickly looked to the empty doorway. A flashback appeared of his brother, Mycroft, on the phone call he had to take on his last visit. One sentence Sherlock heard by chance, repeated in his mind, growing louder and louder.

"_Bond Air is go. That is certain." _He said.

Moriarty chuckled, sending a message to one of his many enemies… blowing a raspberry in the air that carried the signal waves

* * *

Mycroft Holmes grabbed his cell phone of a thick wooden dining table, taking a seat as he read a text he never wished to receive. He slammed hard in his chair… staring into the empty space in front of him. He painfully held his head in his right hand, while the left held his phone with the unwanted message.

_Jumbo Jet? Dear me, Mr. Holmes, Dear me._


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft Holmes had, in the past hour, drank two glasses of white wine and smoked three cigarettes. While he knew this was unhealthy, especially for a man of such high example, he couldn't help it…

He needed to think… a lot… and alcohol mixed with smoke seemed to be the only cure left for a stuck mind.

But no matter what he tried, thinking himself out of this situation was impossible. No answer, no solution could undo what had been no doubt done. Moriarty found out… which meant it was over.

That man was a spider… and his web expanded much farther than anyone in the British government ever expected.

Poor Sherlock, who was still thinking back in 221B, had no idea of the war he may have just started.

The detective sat in his flat's living room, slowly plucking random strings on his violin. His brother's words "Bond Air is go." kept repeating in his head. It was obviously about Flight 007… but what was special about that plane?

In the midst of his pondering, Jo-Ann had a date and a grocery list to attend to. Her date was scheduled a few days ago, which meant the doctor wasn't expecting Sherlock to be home along with a fugitive criminal who had a crush on him. Worry was firmly rested on her brow as she tried to decide if she would leave or not… her date was important, and Sherlock was just going to zone out for the night… Irene didn't seem like she would cause physical harm to him, and there were no drugs in the house that she could use like before…

But what about… emotional harm?

Ms. Adler was known for manipulating people with her… charm. Sherlock was defiantly stronger than most, but this woman was known for surprising people. One thing Jo-Ann swore that if it was the last thing she did, she would protect Sherlock from being smitten by that dominatrix. The date would have to wait! Her detective was more important.

Jo-Ann reached for her phone, ready to cancel her date, when it began ringing on its own. She reached faster for it and answered quickly.

"Dr. Watson speaking." There was a long pause, letting the sounds of static and city busyness occupy the background noise. The caller spoke hesitantly.

"Um… hey Annie…"

Jo-Ann gasped silently, recognizing the voice on the other side of the call. How dare they call… after how much crap Jo-Ann had to put up with, she swore never to speak to this person again.

"…Hello Harry…" she answered. The other Watson sister audibly smiled and let out a breath. She was obviously pleased that Jo-Ann responded.

"Sorry t' call on a public phone… If you saw my number, you'd have hung up…" Harry's voice sounded drunk, as usual. The way she spoke, be it because of the alcohol she had ingested or she was trying to sound innocent, made her sound younger than she was. Jo-Ann wanted to hang up so badly… but the city in the background sounded busy… possibly dangerous for her baby sister.

"Don't jinx yourself and tell me what's going on." Jo-Ann muttered into the phone. Harry Watson had a reputation of causing trouble, for herself and others. Maybe Jo-Ann would help just one last time…

"I've been 'round a bit t'night… some drinks with friends ya know. No cabbies are willin ta take my right now… since most of them know me." Harry laughed a bit, but continued to be in shame. Jo-Ann sighed painfully, not entirely surprised at the point of this call.

"What about Clara?"

"Yeah right! There's no way I'm calling that bi-" Harry stopped herself in fear of making her sister angry. "Please Annie… I'd walk, but a pub had a sale on whisky so there are a lot of drunks out 'ere"

"Don't call me Annie." Jo-Ann stated, but sighed once again. "Where are you?"

"Down on Enford Street I think…" Harry answered, trying to suppress a hiccup. Jo-Ann was going to cancel her date anyway, and this little trip shouldn't take too long…

"I'm on my way." Her words tasted sour as she didn't bother waiting for a reply and hung up. She rang her fingers through her hair and dialed to cancel her date. A few apologies and a rescheduling later, Jo-Ann put on her shooter jacket and red scarf and walked over to the thinking detective. Sherlock sat in his loveseat by the lit fireplace, staring at nothing in particular.

"Sherlock? I have to go out for a bit…" she started, but no reply came. "I'll be right back." She sighed and made her way for the door.

"Leaving?" Irene asked, walking into the living room with a coffee for Sherlock. Jo-Ann turned around to see her, and was uncomfortable since Adler was dressed in Sherlock's robe.

"Er… yeah." she began, worry and nervousness rising. "I won't be long."

"I don't need long." Irene sighed, taking the seat next to the detective. Jo-Ann bit her tongue to refrain from yelling. If only Harry was sober.

"He'll talk to me." Jo-Ann said randomly, catching the woman's attention. "He talks to me when he is thinking like that… weather I'm here or not." She said with a bit of pride in her voice. Irene smirked, setting down the black coffee and relaxing in Jo-Ann's chair.

"That just means he can't tell the difference of weather you're here or not." She tilted her head lazily at the doctor. Jo-Ann breathed slowly, an itch nagging the back of her head. She straightened her scarf and opened the door.

"No… that means he always wants me to be with him." She countered, taking her leave.

Jo-Ann left the flat in a huff, and was determined to hurry with her mission. Harry wasn't that far away, and if the doctor tuned out every word of her sister's, it would go by quickly. She hailed a cab and headed to Enford Street.

Upon arrival, Jo-Ann told the cabbie to wait for a moment as she walked up the street to look for her sister. It didn't take long to find the intoxicated Watson sister, sitting next to the telephone she used to call Jo-Ann. The doctor jogged over to her sister, sighing as she stopped in front of her. Harriet's long brown hair was messy and un-brushed for the evening, resting on her chest that was half covered with a sequin black top. Her bright green shorts hugged tightly around her legs, and her black high heels were held by her right hand, exposing her bare feet. Harry looked up at her sister, which showed her right eye was blackened by a growing bruise. She smiled at Jo-Ann, greeting her.

"Hey Annie! We match!" She laughed. Jo-Ann blushed, gently touching her own black eye that was in the process of healing. The doctor leaned down to her sister and helped her stand up, noticing how immobilized she was. Placing Harry's left arm around her shoulders and held her waist, the two walked down the street to where the cab was waiting. Luckily the cabbie didn't recognize Harry, and drove them to said Watson's apartment. The cab ride was silent for the first few minutes… until Harry broke the silence.

"So… how is Sherlock?" she asked groggily. Jo-Ann felt her heart jump; she hadn't told her sister Sherlock's name in fear that she would seek him out. Apparently, tuning out Harry was more difficult than possible. Slowly turning to the party girl, she spoke slowly.

"How did you know his name?"

Harry giggled and leaned against her sister's shoulder.

"A lot more people read your blog than you know." She laughed. Jo-Ann sighed, remembering that Harry could read her blog at any time.

"He's fine…" Jo-Ann replied, hoping the conversation would end at that. But Harry wanted to know about her sister's life since they never kept in touch.

"Have you done it yet?" she asked rudely. Jo-Ann nearly coughed on air at her remark.

"NO! We have not done- tha-that would never happen!" her words jumbled over themselves as she tried to hide her bright red face. Harry laughed loudly at her sister's flustered behavior.

"Well with how ya right bout em in your blog, it sounds like you're in love!" Harry chuckled. Jo-Ann often poked a little fun at the detective, trying to make him seem a little more… human. Recently her blog entries were a mix of that fun, and a level of admiration. She often praised his intelligence, acting skills, stamina… and sometimes appearance… but she never published those details. Jo-Ann blushed a bit more and turned away from her sister.

"I don't love him like that." She mumbled.

"Bull." Harry replied instantly, smiling like an idiot. "You love him~ you wanna hug him~ you wanna kissssss him~" she sang too loud for the doctor's taste.

"Harry, the cabbie is going to kick us out!" Jo-Ann tried to silence her, but it didn't work.

"Hey, hey cabbie!" Harriet knocked on the glass separating the backseat and the driver. The cabbie smirked, glancing back at the girls before Harry continued. "She…" Harry pointed to Jo-Ann, while leaning forward in her seat, "Is in love with Sherlock Holmes!"

"I am not!" Jo-Ann argued, although it basically pointless at this point.

"Just remember cabbie! This girl, Jo-Ann, is in love love love!~" Harry laughed, falling back in her seat. Jo-Ann's face felt like lava was running beneath her cheeks, and it probably looked like it too. Harry practically fell asleep in an instant, leaving the doctor on her own.

They arrived at Harry's apartment, which Jo-Ann successfully carried her into. After placing Harry in her bed and exiting the building, Jo-Ann climbed back into the cab. The ride was quiet, but not for long…

"Was that a friend of yours?" the cabbie spoke up. His voice was old, and he had grey hair to match. Jo-Ann was hesitant to answer, but seeing as they were in the cab together, it was pretty obvious they knew each other.

"Yes," she replied, "A friend."

"Sounds like she's a bit nosey." The man continued. His voice sounded very familiar, and gentle… like they had met before.

"Yeah she is… saying something as idiotic as me being in love…" Jo-Ann didn't know what it was about this cabbie, but she felt like she could tell him anything.

"Well are you?" the cabbie asked. He kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, while still watching the road, not letting Jo-Ann get a good look at his face.

"…am I what?" she asked.

"Are you in love with Sherlock Holmes?" he asked more clearly. Normally she would object, shout, deny, or all of the above… but there was just something in the way he spoke…

Perhaps it was his innocence… not expecting her to answer in any way… and not trying to get her to say anything… he was just a cabbie, who wasn't going to hold anything against her. She was just a stranger, and a random cabbie was asking her how she felt about another stranger. She could say anything, be honest, and not have to worry about being teased or judged. A new barrier, a wall, was being cracked in Jo-Ann's mind.

It was the opportunity to truly consider her feelings toward Sherlock.

Things people were expecting her to feel, or expecting her to say, faded away.

If no one was watching, how would she feel?

Being with Sherlock made her happy… really happy… and while it was difficult at times, she was never bored. Even when Sherlock was childish, it was cute sometimes. Even his insults, while cold, were clear and smoothly delivered. He acted silly without even realizing it, and had moments where he made Jo-Ann truly smile. Those moments where happening more and more, making the doctor notice how often they appeared. Remembering back to the events of the past months, there were signs of the intimacy between them. He said she was interesting, that he was lost without her, that he was going to _end_ someone if they laid a finger on her. Even if he was a bit loopy, he said the room lit up where she stood… and that she gave him butterflies.

He gave her that exciting feeling that sent chills down her spine… feeling rushed, anxious, and yet… comforted. Before meeting Sherlock, her life was boring, dull, and stuck. He certainly kept her busy, but she liked that if it didn't get too bad. When it did get bad, he would sometimes worked on cases extra so that Jo-Ann could rest.

Looking into her future, could she really see a life without Sherlock?

Jo-Ann breathed slowly, zoning out while still looking in the direction of the cabbie. Her heart raced at the thought… the fairly possible thought…

"I don't know…"

She stared in to the rear view mirror, looking into the eyes of the cabbie in disbelief.

"…Maybe…"


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey-o! sorry i went a little crazy with the (...)'s in this chapter. I guess I wanted it to be read slowly? anyway, I saw a picture online that inspired a little scene at the end of the chapter. The picture was about what Sherlock really sees when he deduces John so i gender-bended it a little. if you want to see it, just Google "What Sherlock really sees" in images. **

**Enjoy and please review :D**

Slowly the violin strings were pulled, only by finger tips… gently. The silence between notes of the instrument was so quiet, so still… letting the dust float peacefully in air in a never ending pattern. The string reached its maximum stretch, being pulled by pale and skinny fingers. The fibers of the cord being separated microscopically, pulling apart and ready to release… then, when the silence was done it's turn, the fingers pulled away from the string… slowly sliding of the surface on the cord, taking dust and leaving bits of oil. Then…

_Twang_

The note erupts from the vibrations of the violin string, shattering the silence that enveloped the space surrounding it. It leaves an echo of the sweetest of fashions, perfect in the sound. The purpose of pulling that string, extracting that perfect note, was fulfilled. After the note's echoes stopped, the silence would surround again… carrying the dust peacefully in never ending pattern.

Or you could say, Sherlock was thinking. And the incurable habit of playing violin followed him without trying.

"Coventry!" Sherlock exclaimed, after nearly two hours of silence.

"I've never been." Irene replied, sitting in Jo-Ann's chair that was directly across from him. Sherlock's eyes focused, and were genuinely surprised she was there. He didn't need to turn his head or look in a direction he wasn't before… she was _right there_. His jaw dropped slightly, being fairly confused.

"Is it nice?" she asked politely. Sherlock looked at her, concerned, before speaking.

"Where's Jo-Ann?" he asked hesitantly, noticing she was wearing his robe and her hair was down. She looked puzzled for a moment and answered slowly.

"She went out… an hour ago…" said Irene. Sherlock didn't move an inch this whole conversation.

"I was just talking to her." He replied in a distracted manner, darting his eyes as if to look for his doctor.

"Yeah, she said you do that." Irene said uncomfortably. Sherlock sighed and settled in his chair, annoyed that he had to wait to tell Jo-Ann new information.

"What's Coventry got to do with anything?" Irene asked, going back to the first thing he said. Sherlock inhaled slowly, not really wanting to speak to her.

"… It's a story… probably not true." He stated. Irene adjusted herself in her chair, like a child would when they wanted to hear a story. Sherlock sighed and began explaining.

"In the second world war, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to be bombed because they'd broken the German code. But they didn't want the Germans to know they'd broken the code." Irene listened with much interest. Honestly, this man could read of his grocery list and it would be interesting. "So they let it happen anyway." He finished, explaining as simply as possible. It was a short story, but Irene was smitten. His deep voice mixed with the dim light of the fireplace and his over-all attractiveness was making her crazy inside.

"Have you ever had anyone?" she asked randomly. Sherlock blinked for a moment, trying to understand what that even was. When it came to sex references, he was the opposite of a genius.

"I'm… sorry?" his brow furrowed. Irene smiled a bit, both loving and wanting to take away that innocence.

"And when I say had, I'm being indelicate." She continued.

"I don't understand." Sherlock admitted. Irene took the opportunity and got up from her chair.

"I'll be delicate then." She walked over to his chair, causing the detective to inwardly panic. She kneeled in front of him, gently placing her hand on top of his own on the armrest. "Let's have dinner."

* * *

Jo-Ann got out of the cab she rode in for the past hour, which would have gone faster if Harry was sober enough to get in her own apartment. Shutting the door, she walked up to the front of the car, wanting to pay the cabbie and also thank him. She fished in her pockets, looking for pounds to give him.

"How much?" Jo-Ann asked politely. She peaked into the car, only to be shocked. There, sitting in the driver's seat and acting as cabbie, was the old man from the bookstore. He smiled at her reaction, making his glasses rise.

"Sir! I had no idea it was you." Jo-Ann giggled.

"It's alright dear, it's a bit hard when you're staring at the back of a head." He smiled.

"What are doing as a cabbie?" she asked, wondering if something happened to the bookstore.

"The old store is good for most of my funds, but don't we all need that little extra?" he chuckled. Jo-Ann closed her eyes and nodded, knowing exactly how he felt. "No charge, love."

"What? But what about that extra?" she asked worriedly. She had been riding in his cab for an hour… a fine payment being expected.

"The evening was a pleasure, no price on that." He said cheerfully. Jo-Ann smiled and sighed, happy that she could meet this man again. "By the way, I am Jasper Evens, and I wish you the best with Sherlock." He held out his hand to her. She shook it, blushing at his wish.

"Jo-Ann Watson. And thank you." She smiled affectionately. They said goodbye and parted ways, allowing Jo-Ann to enter 221B. She closed the door quietly behind her, knowing that Mrs. Hudson was asleep at this time of night and she didn't want to disturb her. She tiptoed up the stairs, but once halfway up, she continued normally. Hopefully Irene left Sherlock alone… but what Jo-Ann didn't know was that she was about to walk in on one hell of a shock.

"Sherlock?"

* * *

"Why?" Sherlock asked coldly, trying to stay unreadable.

"You might be hungry." Irene reasoned.

"I'm not."

"Good." She smiled, although the whole situation was still confusing to the detective. But at this time, Irene was vulnerable… openly showing emotions that could be proven true or false with proper evidence. Time to use those acting skills.

"Why… would I want… to have dinner…" he said slowly, taking her hand that rested on his own. "…if I wasn't... hungry?" he found himself looking at her in a way that taunted her… like he was hungry, but not for food…

"Mr. Holmes…" they drifted closer, "If it was the end of the world… If this was the very last night..." she couldn't help the blush in her cheeks, nor was over-all heat in her body, when wondering if this was the moment she was waiting for. "Would you have dinner with me?" she stared into his grey eyes, not knowing he was examining her.

"Sherlock?" Jo-Ann called from behind the door, twisting the keys to unlock it. Irene panicked, worrying that the moment was over… and Sherlock would divide his attention.

"It's not the end of the world…" Sherlock looked at the door, then to Irene. "It's my doctor."

The words left a sting in Ms. Adler, causing her to think faster. Not thinking of any other way and desperately wanting to already, she did what she knew would make the doctor angry and keep Sherlock's attention.

Irene kissed the detective… with no intention of pulling away.

Sherlock reeled back, but couldn't move to get far enough away. It was his first kiss, the one people held for sentimental value… but the kiss wasn't what Sherlock had heard about in the field of being magical or wondrous…It was sour. The taste of venom seemed to fill his senses, making him want to retreat more. The sweetness that he was told to expect in a first kiss was gone, and replaced with the desire to get away. Maybe it was because it was forced, or because Sherlock had no desire for a kiss… but it almost stung when their lips touched.

No sooner than the kiss started did Jo-Ann open to door, causing immediate disgust and surprise. Sherlock could see Jo-Ann in the doorway, looking horrified, but felt incapable to do anything. The doctor's fury finally out-weighed the shock, making her march in their direction. If there was a cord to symbolize the tension, it snapped.

"Hey." Jo-Ann spat, tapping Irene hard on the shoulder. The woman flinched, slowly pulling away from the still detective. She glared up in Jo-Ann's direction, a look of disgust present.

"You think you wanna get away from him?" Jo-Ann threatened. Her ears were hot, but not as on fire as her anger. Irene rolled her eyes and turned back to Sherlock, ignoring Jo-Ann's fury.

"No, not really." Ms. Adler responded, smiling with adoration at the detective. Sherlock looked up at Jo-Ann, giving her a look that spelled discomfort.

"Very well, Ms. Adler…" Jo-Ann began in an overly fancy tone that mocked the dominatrix. "Do you wish to see the morning sunlight?" she smiled, putting her hands behind her back. Irene looked up at her, tilting her head. Jo-Ann's face became serious, glaring at the woman she wished to choke.

"Then I suggest you BACK. OFF." She hissed.

The tension increased to an even more uncomfortable level, leaving all three to stare in silence. Sherlock felt immediate pressure to end the situation, and as he felt, ended it. He inhaled sharply and got up from his chair. With no warning or even mention of his actions, he swooped towards his un-suspecting doctor and hauled her over his shoulder.

"What the-?!" Jo-Ann tried to ask, but she was already on the detective's shoulder.

"Good night Ms. Adler." Sherlock bid, carrying a very confused Jo-Ann, who was pounding on his back, out the door. Irene sat on the edge of her chair, jaw-dropped and completely confused.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" Jo-Ann continued to hit him, half-whispering in fear of waking up the sleeping landlady. "Put me down-wha!" Sherlock began climbing the stairs, making Jo-Ann panic and grab onto his suit. The fabric twisted in her fists as she watched step after step get lower and lower. He was taking her to her bedroom… Jo-Ann's face lit up with blood red at the thought. The door to her room flung open, letting Sherlock and angry Jo-Ann enter. "Sherlock what are you doing?!" she asked, but was silenced as Sherlock set her down on her bed. She landed a bit ungracefully, but sat up straight as soon as the detective stood up. Shifting uncomfortably on the covers, the doctor tried to keep her eyes off Sherlock. Nearly thirty minutes ago she realized she could possibly like Sherlock _that_ way… and now they were in her bedroom, alone, and he _wanted_ to be there. Sherlock, sensing her discomfort, went around and sat on the right side of the bed. He began taking his shoes off, making Jo-Ann wonder even more.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Her heart was vibrating her entire diaphragm when she saw him taking off his suit jacket.

"Well I wasn't about to sleep down there. Not with that woman." He said calmly. "Do you mind?" Sherlock turned to ask her, causing her stomach to jump in place. She pretended to yawn so she could cover her red face and look away.

"N-No not really… I'll go get dressed." She tried to sound calm, getting up from the bed to get pajamas. She searched in her drawers for something that could cover her as much as possible. "d-don't you need clothes to sleep in?"

"No, I'm fine." Sherlock responded quickly, lying down on top of the covers. "Goodnight." He said, closing his eyes and moving into his thinking position. Jo-Ann said goodnight as well, going into the bathroom to change.

She splashed water in her face, trying to calm herself down. Her breathing slowed to a normal pace as she talked herself down.

"It's OK… It's fine… he just wants to get away from Adler…" _"Then why did he carry you like that?!" _"Because I would have argued…" _"Setting you down on the bed?" _"Soft landing…" _"His hand on your-"_ "He would have dropped me!" Jo-Ann whispered her argument with herself. She took out her ponytail, fluffing up her hair before getting dressed. When she thought about it, couldn't _she_ just sleep downstairs? She didn't want to be around that woman either… besides…

If she wanted Irene to stay away from Sherlock… why not stay upstairs?

Perfect! Irene would be miss-led, and all Jo-Ann had to do was stay upstairs! But… could she even do that? Jo-Ann shook her head and finished dressing. In her black t-shirt and long sweat pants, she peaked out the bathroom door. Sherlock laid on the right side on the bed, still in his thinking position and in his white dress shirt. Jo-Ann nearly retreated back in the bathroom, thinking how handsome he looked in that color. _"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"_ she mentally slapped herself, _"you don't… you don't… en-en-entirely…"_ she tried to deny it… but somewhere in her, she knew she liked Sherlock a little more than a friend. Jo-Ann couldn't do it… she couldn't sleep in the same bed with him. She did once before when he was sick, but that was before all the weird thoughts…

Jo-Ann stepped out of the bathroom, tiptoeing along the carpet towards the bed. She hesitantly reached for her pillow and grabbed it off the covers. Plopping the pillow on the floor, Jo-Ann took an extra blanket and lied down on the carpet.

Ten minutes later…

"Uhhhhgggg…" Jo-Ann whispered in pain. The floor proved to be more uncomfortable than she expected. Groaning once again, she got up enough to peak over the edge of the bed. Sherlock was still lying there, but looking more asleep than thinking with his hands folded on his stomach. The pain of the floor was worse than his cuteness, making Jo-Ann decide to swallow her pride and climb into bed. She placed her pillow back on the bed and slowly pulled the covers down. Red flushed across her cheeks as she awkwardly lied down. Glancing a few times at Sherlock, she finally settled. With her head resting against her pillow, Jo-Ann could hear her heart beat in her ears. Sleepiness taking over, she reluctantly closed her eyes and enjoyed the bliss of rest.

Morning rose, letting the warm sunlight shine through the curtains. Small bits of dust stood out from the light, reflecting it. The room was quiet, save for the calmed breathing of a detective and his doctor. Sherlock stirred, the sunlight piercing through his closed eyes. They slowly opened, getting a first look at the morning through his eyelashes. Suddenly remembering he was in Jo-Ann's room, he jumped a bit, looking over to his right. There was Jo-Ann, just inches away.

She breathed gently, moving stray blonde hairs back and forth in steady pattern. Her hair fanned out, swirling and curving around her sleeping face. The pillow underneath her made her cheek rise in a cute fashion as she continued to sleep. Her eyes remained closed, pushing her blonde eyelashes against her face. Their breath mixed, being so close… face to face. Sherlock's eyes softened, staring at his doctor. Curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to examine her, possibly to discover how her date went the night before… although most of the data was gone by now. Looking at her eyes, he didn't see any traces of make-up. Even if she washed her face, there would be tracks of mascara with the brand she bought. That means she couldn't have put any on within the time of her date… and she never forgets make-up when it comes to boyfriends. There was a very faint smell of alcohol around her, but not coming from her mouth… signaling she was around someone very intoxicated. His eyes moved down to her lips, ready to investigate, when other things started to describe her… not facts about her whereabouts… but _different_ facts. Word after word popped up around her, the things he saw.

"_Soft… shaped… clever… talented… honest… shocking… strong… timeless… necessary… perfect… teasing… warm… distracting… heavenly… kissable…"_

**"…_Mine." _**

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. His deductions never failed… everything he ever saw was reasonable or true…But… when he really thought about it… those words _were_ true.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey guys! Here is chapter nineteen :D There is another little scene inspired by a picture, but i can remember what a searched to find it T^T **

**Anyway, read and enjoy :D (and review) **

Chapter 19

For the first time in… well, ever… Sherlock wanted something physical. Jo-Ann was right there, looking beautiful and not objecting to him being so close. Her lips read words that he never saw appear when he deduced anything, some being "soft", "warm", "teasing"… and "kissable". They were very kissable, just lying still and parted enough to let small breaths escape. Her lips, Jo-Ann's lips, just inches from his own. The temptation was getting to him for the first time in his life, making him gulp down whatever air was in his mouth. His face grew hot and his thoughts were yelling at his betraying body. What was it like to kiss? _Truly_ kiss? Irene's entire personality and actions made the detective realize there was a whole world he was never a part of. He never felt the desire for touch… curiosity but not desire. After all, he never was close enough to anyone to want sentiment or physical contact. But Jo-Ann… she was the only person to ever grow so close to him… and actually want to be close. She was beautiful in his eyes, in every way possible. If he was going to love anyone, it was her… and she was just a few inches away.

Sherlock moved closer, carful to not wake the sleeping doctor by rustling the covers. Inches felt like yards and seconds felt like hours as he slowly brought his face closer to hers. The thought of her awaking didn't bother to cross his mind… nor did the thought that was actually about to _kiss_ his flatmate, assistant, doctor, and best friend. He wanted her kiss. He wanted her.

He stopped moving, nearly a single centimeter away from Jo-Ann's face. Their noses would have touched if Sherlock didn't approach cautiously, turning just enough to keep his nose above hers. All he had to do was tilt his head up… and the surface of their lips would connect. His heartbeat was audible in his ears, beating faster and faster. It was an entirely new sensation, making him feel light and heavy at the same time due to the rush of blood to his head. He was careful not to breathe too heavily; if he did, Jo-Ann could wake up. He was going to do it, kiss the woman who captivated his Mind Palace Ballroom… his head began tilting, feeling her hot breath…

When the doorbell rang.

Sherlock exhaled sharply out of shock, closing his eyes in disappointment. Jo-Ann's nose scrunched, being tickled by one of her hairs that moved because of Sherlock's breath. He quickly moved his head away, almost hit by Jo-Ann's hand that itched her nose. She sighed comfortably, shifting in place and hugging her pillow. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was real, but he saw a smile grace her lips as she sighed once more. Sherlock sighed himself, saddened at the interruption of the doorbell that continued to ring. He grumbled, getting out of the warm bed and putting on his suit jacket. He straightened it out, buttoning it the way he normally did and glanced once more at Jo-Ann. She lied peacefully on the bed, in warm bliss of the comfortable plush. Her figure was outlined by the creases of the blanket, showing her sleeping position. Sherlock noticed that she wasn't taking up a lot of space, even when in deep sleep. That showed that the evening before, she was trying to give Sherlock as much room as possible. He smiled at her, his sleeping doctor, as he exited the room.

Sherlock swiftly jogged down the stairs, letting the slow realization of what he was about to do sink in. He was about to kiss her… letting emotion control his actions. He had always been able to suppress his feelings, not letting most of them reach the surface. He was Sherlock Holmes for goodness sake! An emotionless detective with the highest IQ this side of London. Never again would he let the temptation of physical desire take over his body. Emotions were one thing he could barely accept, but physical attraction? Poppycock.

But… in that moment with Jo-Ann so close… it was joyful.

Sherlock shook his head as he reached the first floor, ready to greet the annoying guest. Opening the door, he was slightly confused. No one stood there or anywhere near the door. He stepped out, looking for a car to be parked, but the normal traffic was only present. Sherlock began walking back inside, when something on the doorstep caught his eye. An envelope, addressed to "Mr. Sherlock Holmes", lied on the ground, the white color standing out from the grey gravel. He hesitantly picked it up, walking back into the flat and gently closing the door. He carefully examined the letter, holding it up to the light and at eye level. There were no indents or shapes that showed any sign of explosives. He rubbed his thumb across the surface, getting a feel of the texture. No oil from his fingers was visible along the very small ridges of paper, nor was anything visible inside by holding it up to light. Sherlock carried the letter up the stairs and into the living room. There was no sign of "the Woman" much to his relief. He walked over to the desk, turning on the desk lamp and grabbing the mail opener. Slicing through the top of the envelope, he confirmed the thickness in paper he suspected earlier. It was a standard business envelope, used in the field of government. The writing on the outside was hand written and done by a man who lived in Bedford, obviously. Carefully removing the paper out of the envelope, Sherlock saw that is was not a letter, but a plane ticket. The ticket was addressed to Sherlock Holmes, and due to depart at 6:30pm that night. Flight number… 007.

Sherlock smiled in twisted delight, looking forward to the dangerous and interesting events that surely awaited him. He put the ticket on the desk, and made his way to his own bedroom.

Irene Adler was still sleeping, taking up the heart of the bed and gripping the covers. Sherlock rolled his eyes at her presence and quietly went to his dresser. Picking out another identical suit and deciding now was the best time to shower, he casually strolled to the bathroom just outside the bedroom door. He closed the door silently, locking himself in to keep the dominatrix out. After the events of the night before, who knows what she'll do next…

One shower and dressing later, Sherlock exited the bathroom, peaking in both directions to look for either of the two women. Seeing no one in sight, he strolled out into the hallway, fully dressed, but with wet hair and a towel resting on his shoulders. He didn't like drying his hair, feeling that it made his curls less defined. Despite his seemingly un-concerned ways, his hair was a different matter. Walking out into the kitchen, he didn't notice Jo-Ann standing in the corner, making coffee. He swiftly grabbed an apple of the counter, taking a bite when Jo-Ann spoke up.

"Coffee?" she offered, turning around to hand him a cup. Sherlock turned as well, making her heart flitter. The combination of his wet hair and towel, with the apple held to his mouth, was stunningly cute. Sherlock himself founded him chewing slower at the unexpected disturbance. She was dressed in her striped long-sleeve knit top that hugged her figure, paired with tight blue jeans and her hair twisted up in a towel. Apparently she showered at the same time he did. No matter how plain she was dressed, that button nose and those blue eyes got him every time. He swallowed the fruit in his mouth and answered her.

"Yes, thank you." He said in a normal voice, taking another bite of his apple. Jo-Ann smiled and placed two sugars in a cup of black coffee. Sherlock swallowed another bite, but then stared at the fruit disapprovingly. With one move, he tossed it in the trash can and took the coffee Jo-Ann held out to him. The doctor gasped at his action and began scolding him.

"Sherlock! You only took two bites of that apple! Don't waste food." She said, adding cream to her own coffee. Sherlock leaned on the counter with his elbows and smiled behind his coffee cup.

"Well I realized I shouldn't eat apples." He sipped the hot liquid, enjoying her confusion.

"And why not? There good for you." Jo-Ann commented, waiting for his response. Sherlock set down his coffee and explained.

"Because an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and while I am most certain you won't leave, I'm not about to take any chances." He said in a matter-of-fact tone. Jo-Ann's eyes widened, but softened right away as she chuckled to herself. Sipping her coffee, she walked around the counter to Sherlock, who watched her move and stood up when she was close.

"I'd never leave." Jo-Ann said softly, having to go on her toes to remove the towel from Sherlock's shoulders. He eyed her with confusion, then panic as she put the towel on his head and ruffled his hair.

"AH no, no, no!" Sherlock complained, but was ignored by Jo-Ann. She pulled away the towel, admiring his now fluffy hair. She laughed to herself, causing Sherlock to be more embarrassed. Her dark blue eyes met striking ones as she smiled.

"I'd be lost without my detective." Jo-Ann stated kindly, putting the towel back around his shoulders. During "The Blind Banker" case, Sherlock had said something similar… "I'd be lost without my blogger." Were his words, and to hear Jo-Ann say something like-wise, it made Sherlock… sentimental.

"…Good…"He admitted, running his fingers through his curls, unhappy she messed them up. She laughed again, taking her coffee and walking into the living room. Sherlock watched her move into the other room, feeling another bit of his icy heart melt.

Jo-Ann typed away on her computer, updating her blog for her awaiting readers. Her hair was still wrapped it a towel, perched atop her head, leaning to one side. She sipped her warm coffee once again, keeping her eyes on the screen but smiling at the pleasant taste.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he imagine their future if they kept going down their current path. They would probably end up being two old timers in their seventies, still chasing down criminals throughout the streets of London. Home life wouldn't change that much… the two would still sit together and drink their coffee… Black with two sugars and hazelnut flavor with a spoonful of cream. The world could be in shambles, with war, sickness, or whatever disaster humanity would bring upon itself… and Sherlock would still want Jo-Ann to be sitting on the couch with him, watching crap telly and playing Cluedo.

It was a sentimental idea, swallowed up by fluffiness and gushy feelings… but he didn't care. If he was going to get sentimental about anything, it would be her. Sherlock smiled at his doctor, deciding that he wanted this life to last forever.

The day passed surprisingly well, with minimal hiccups or hijinks by a certain dominatrix. Sherlock and Jo-Ann ran to the grocery store, much to the detective's dismay. But the doctor was NOT going to leave Sherlock home with Irene after her previous stunt. Naturally Sherlock complained throughout the whole trip, stomping around and following Jo-Ann. She ignored his behavior, but couldn't help but giggle when he put his chin on her head, whining from boredom.

They returned home and Jo-Ann prepared dinner for not only her and Sherlock, but also Irene… although Sherlock advised against putting rat poison on that plate. She prepared chicken pasta with a marinara sauce, along with broccoli and string beans. Irene sat in Sherlock's chair and gently accepted the meal, while secretly checking it for any kind of drug. Sherlock laid on the sofa, legs stretched out and hands folded underneath his chin. Sighing, Jo-Ann placed the plate on the coffee table, knowing he probably wouldn't eat. Deciding to put her hunger aside, she put her plate in the microwave and walked back over to Sherlock. She kneeled down in front of the couch, making her face nearly even with the detective.

"Sherlock?" she tried to get his attention while ignoring the constant stare of Irene that was aimed at the back of her head.

"Hm?" Sherlock mumbled, slightly turning his head towards her voice.

"…I made dinner, please eat." Jo-Ann blushed. This was one of the first meals she cooked for the both of them, and she wanted him to at least taste it. Their meals at home were often made by Mrs. Hudson or take-away. It was a silly request for him to eat Jo-Ann's food, but Sherlock needed to eat anyway.

"What for?" he asked absently. He was a tad hungry… but he was trained to suppress that hunger for days.

"You need your strength." Jo-Ann tried to reason.

"I'm perfectly well."

"You look pale."

"My natural complexion."

"You…um…" she was running out of ideas.

"Any reason for food is pointless at this time. I'm on a case." Sherlock kept his eyes closed throughout the argument, although he could imagine Jo-Ann's expressions to match her words. The doctor looked down at the hands on her knees, realization sinking in once again. Sherlock wasn't a normal person. There would be times where she would be disappointed, times where he wouldn't be sentimental. She sighed and got up from the floor, taking the plate of food with her. Jo-Ann walked back into the kitchen, reheating her own meal in the microwave. She her food almost angrily, taking faster bites than usual.

Irene observed from a distance, quietly eating the pasta. Her eyes darted between Sherlock and the kitchen, not used to the one sided tension. She was already annoyed that they slept in the same room the night before, but now they were bickering like an old married couple.

"Dearies! Isn't the doorbell working?" Mrs. Hudson called from the stairway.

"I don't know! Sherlock shot it this morning!" Jo-Ann replied loudly, making the detective scrunch his nose. Mrs. Hudson entered the flat, followed by a dark-skinned man dressed in a sharp suit.

"Well this man has been standing outside the door. Were you expecting company, Sherlock?" she asked in her sweet voice. Sherlock looked over the arm of the couch, upside down, before settling back in his previous position.

"Here to take me away _again_?" Sherlock asked rudely. The man was one of the two men that kidnapped Sherlock to Buckingham Palace two months earlier.

"Yes Mr. Holmes." The man replied simply. Sherlock swiftly got up from the couch and straightened his jacket.

"And if I decline?" he tempted. Jo-Ann watched from the doorway of the kitchen, trying not to say anything that would cause trouble. Irene watched as well, looking at Sherlock, then the man, then back at Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson, used to this, went back down to her flat.

"I don't think you want to. You received a letter this morning, did you not?" the man countered. Sherlock tilted his head back in realization and reached inside his suit jacket pocket. He pulled out the plane ticket for fight 007 and held it up to the man with curiosity. "That's right." The man replied. Sherlock nodded slowly, smiling the tiniest bit. He put the ticket back in his pocket and went to fetch his coat off the rack.

"Jo-Ann! I'll be going out for a bit." He said with his back to her, putting on his coat and scarf.

"Where to?" she gulped. Mycroft, although easier to just call, often sent agents to collect Sherlock and herself. But with how he was speaking, it told her she couldn't go with him. Sherlock spun around and walked over to her effortlessly.

"Off to 'save the world'." he whispered, adding a wink. Jo-Ann looked at him with confusion, but didn't get a chance to ask any more questions before he walked out the door with the agent. She quickly turned around and ran back in the kitchen.

Sherlock swiftly walked down the stairs, nearly shadowed by the man's large frame. Mrs. Hudson waited at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips.

"That doorbell repair is going on your rent." She told Sherlock. The detective smiled.

"I know Mrs. Hudson… but the doorbell had it coming." He said seriously. The landlady laughed and gave him a quick hug. Sherlock stepped one foot out the door, before stopping in his tracks.

"Sherlock!" Jo-Ann called from the top of the stairs. She frantically rushed down the stairs, carrying a plastic bag in her hand. She reached the landing and blushed as she handed the bag to him. "You really should eat." She mumbled. Sherlock looked at the bag, and back at her. He sighed and took the bag from her.

"Oh if you insist, Doctor." He smiled. Jo-Ann looked up, a smile creeping on her face. "I'll be back soon." He said, turning around and closing the door behind him. Jo-Ann sighed with satisfaction, turning back to the stairs.

Once upstairs, Jo-Ann's happy mood was crushed by seeing Ms. Adler standing in front of the mirror above the fireplace. She gently put on fresh lipstick, smacking her lips to dry the color. Jo-Ann mumbled to herself and started cleaning up leftovers and dishes. Going to collect Irene's dishes, Jo-Ann glared at her from behind.

"Do you really need all that make-up? You pretty enough anyway…" the doctor mumbled. She didn't know why it bothered her, but Irene was seductive enough without make-up. There was no need to give Sherlock more reason to admire the dominatrix.

"Oh how true." Irene said beautifully, wiping away excess eye shadow. "But I like to make a good appearance sometimes… you should try it." Irene teased, putting away the rest of her make-up equipment. Jo-Ann snorted, picking up the dishes and walking back into the kitchen.

"Why would I need make-up? I like myself the way I am." She called from the kitchen, not expecting an answer, while Irene put on her grey fur coat.

"Do you also like the back end of a donkey? Because it is rather similar. " Irene spoke calmly, as if she didn't say anything unusual. Jo-Ann exhaled a long breath through her teeth, setting the dishes in the sink. She spun around, tongue sharpened and ready to strike, when no one was there to receive her words. Jo-Ann closed her mouth and walked out of the kitchen. The living room was empty, lying still and quiet with no Adler in sight. Jo-Ann furrowed her brow and shrugged in confusion.


	20. Chapter 20

**Helloooo everyone! Welcome to the "Chapter 20 extravaganza"! To celebrate 100 followers, 50,000+ words and reaching twenty chapters, I have made this installment of _His Doctor_ 5,000 words! :D **

**Thank you all for supporting me and this story! Please enjoy and review! **

Chapter 20

Sherlock held back a smile as he stared down at the plastic container on his lap. It was still warm, heating up his legs through the bag it rested on. The cold air, even within the car, mixed with the warmth of home-cooked meal gave him a feeling of… reassurance… Jo-Ann was waiting for him at home, worried about him. He felt his heart clench a bit as he looked forward to that sight.

Sherlock quietly ate the small portion of chicken pasta and green beans Jo-Ann prepared for him. It was delicious, as expected. Jo-Ann wasn't known for cooking, but something about the way she made coffee or how she fussed over him gave the feeling that she would be talented. He swallowed the last bite, and packed up the plastic container. Trying to regain seriousness, Sherlock pushed the thought of Jo-Ann to the back of his mind as he spoke to the driver.

"There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American Governments know about it, but rather than expose the source of their information, they're going to let it happen." Sherlock pulled out the plane ticket for flight 007, "The plane will blow up… Coventry all over again." The driver and man in the passenger seat didn't say a word. They only stared blankly ahead as Sherlock was reminded of the horrid ways of the world… and how incredibly boring they were. "The wheel turns… Nothing is ever new."

The car pulled into Heathrow Airport, driving along hangers that contained the glorious passenger jets people all around the world used on a daily basis. One of which, would never be in use again. Cruising past runways, the car drove around to the front of a parked plane, flight 007. The car came to a stop, letting Sherlock immediately exit the vehicle. There were several men standing nearby, all dressed in suits with their hands behind their back. Sherlock walked to the steps aligned with the entrance to the plane, but noticed the American agent standing by the bottom of the staircase… The one who "fell out of a window".

"Well… you're looking all better." Sherlock said calmly, stopping in front of the man. "How are you feeling?" while it seemed like a normal conversation, both men were glaring at each other, a battle of superiority.

"Like putting a bullet through your brain… sir." The man said with discomfort following the word "sir". Sherlock chuckled, and began climbing the staircase.

"_Get in line with everyone else I've met." _The detective thought. The man continued as Sherlock was halfway up the steps.

"They'd pin a medal on me if I did… _Sir._"

Sherlock froze mid stride, placing his hands in his pocket. He took a deep breath, and proceeded to walk. It would take more than words from an American to make him loose his temper. Sherlock's slender fingers pulled back the curtain that separated the passengers from the doorway. But upon entry, he couldn't help noticing the environment.

It was cold... Damn cold.

Sherlock could see his own breaths hover in front of him as he examined the area. No lights were turned on, letting the darkness take over. Surprisingly, passengers were already seated… but every single one was sleeping. Sherlock furrowed his brow as his bent down to look at a few people, but no one moved. He did a confused turn around, looking for anyone who may enter the plane. Taking a second glance at a woman seated directly to his right, he turned on the overhead light.

She was pale, and appeared to be sleeping… but not breathing.

Sherlock's eyes went wide with realization as he slowly leaned back up. They were all dead… a bunch of corpses dressed up and strapped into place. The detective took another look around, and judging by their appearance and the chilling temperature… they have been dead for some time.

"The Coventry Conundrum." Someone broke the silence. Sherlock quickly looked behind him, the location of the familiar voice. Mycroft Holmes walked out from another curtain, carrying his omnipresent umbrella. "What do you think of my solution?" he asked his little brother. Sherlock, almost dazed by the whole thing, did a slow look around the entire compartment. "The flight of the dead." Mycroft continued.

"The plane blows up mid-air… mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties… but nobody dies." Sherlock concluded, turning back to the older Holmes.

"Neat, don't you think?" Mycroft asked, knowing his brother would be pleased at something _new_. Sherlock smiled. "You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages… or were you too _bored_ to notice the pattern?" Mycroft stated, making Sherlock glance in his direction. Thinking back, some clients did come in at different times, complaining about their missing, deceased loved ones… and asking Sherlock if he could help.

"_They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead. Did he go to heaven?" two little girls sat side by side in the middle of 221B. _

Sherlock's heart beat faster as the clues were falling together.

"_She's not my real aunt. I know human ash." A bald man sat, holding an urn in his hands and looking rather distressed. _

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back. Thought I believe one of our passengers… didn't make the flight." Mycroft continued, pulling out a slip of paper from his jacket and reading as he spoke. Sherlock tilted his head back when realizing more.

"_There was a plane crash yesterday. Everyone dead." Lestrade informed Sherlock and Jo-Ann as they walked through an empty parking lot. _

"_Suspected terrorist bomb." Sherlock stated, getting a look at his surroundings. "We do watch the news." _

"_You said 'boring' and turned over." Jo-Ann pointed out, making the detective look back at her, but ignore the comment. The three stopped at the back of a car, trunk open and filled with an unpleasant sight._

"_According to the flight details, this man was checked in on board." Lestrade said, opening the trunk wider to reveal the corpse inside. Sherlock quickly started examining as Lestrade continued. "Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, and even these special biscuits." He said, pointing at said objects that lay throughout the trunk in plastic evidence bags. "Here's his passport, stamped in berlin airport. This man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday… but instead he's in a car boot in Suffolk."_

"_Lucky escape… sort of." Jo-Ann commented, taking a look at the body for cause of death. Sherlock looked as well, pulling out his magnifying glass and examining the corpse's fingers. _

"_Any ideas?" Lestrade asked. _

"_Eight… so far." Sherlock announced. Sniffing the air around the body, his brow creased in confusion. "…okay, four ideas." He said quickly while pulling his head out of the trunk. Looking at the passport and ID again, Sherlock stared up at the sky, watching a plane take off._

"_Maybe two ideas…" _

"That's the deceased for you." Mycroft stared at his little brother as he solved the puzzle. "…Late, in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly—oh of course… unmanned aircraft." Sherlock answered himself. How could he miss such a big case! It was all right under his nose… but why bring Sherlock straight to the plane?

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly." Mycroft said unexpectedly. Sherlock quickly turned to him. "This entire project is canceled." Sherlock's confusion increased, as Mycroft's distress became more apparent. "The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb… We can't fool them now." The detective turned his whole body to his brother, intrigued. "We've lost everything… one fragment of one _e-mail_… and months and years of planning finished." Mycroft stated, sending a small feeling of guilt into Sherlock. That e-mail…

"Your M.O.D. man." Sherlock whispered.

"It's all it takes. One lonely, naïve man desperate to show off… and a woman clever enough to make him feel special." The older Holmes was showing more agitation.

"Hm… you need to screen your defense people more carefully." Sherlock remarked sarcastically.

"I'm not talking about the M.O.D. man Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted, much to the detective's surprise. "I'm talking about you!" he slammed his umbrella tip against the ground. Anger was flowing from the government official as Sherlock looked at him with complete bewilderment. "A damsel in distress… in the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook." Mycroft said quieter than before. "The promises of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption… and given a puzzle, watch him dance." The brother finished, twirling his umbrella in the air.

Sherlock's face took on disgust as he caught what his brother implied. Him? Love Ms. Adler? Ridiculous! It was true that when Sherlock deciphered the code in that e-mail within a second, he was trying to impress… but not that dominatrix…

"Don't be absurd!" Sherlock sneered.

"Absurd?" Mycroft smiled, "how quickly did you decipher that e-mail for her? Was it the full minute?... or were you really eager to impress?"

"I think it was less than five seconds." A lovely voice cooed from behind. Sherlock quickly turned to face the woman in question, Irene Adler. She smiled, nodding to the detective. Mycroft was unfazed, and continued to talk to his brother.

"I drove you into her path… I'm sorry… I didn't know you would fall…"

Sherlock ignored him and continued to stare at the woman who was supposed to be home. Did she do something to Jo-Ann to get away?

"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk." Irene said, walking up the aisle, towards the brothers.

"So do I." Sherlock began, "There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite-" Irene interrupted as she gently pushed past him.

"Not you, junior. You're done now." She said with a cold voice, walking past the detective and right to Mycroft. "There's more… Loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world." Her phone lit up in her hand. "You have no idea how much havoc I can cause, and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your _masters_ that your biggest security leak is your own little brother." Irene finished heartlessly.

The Holmes' brothers, with no other choice, took Irene back to Mycroft's own home… which happened to be the house Sherlock grew up in as well. The grand mansion, surrounded by a tall metal fence and towering over the gardens that circled the boarder, brought back mixed emotions and memories to the detective.

Sitting in the lounge near the front of the house, the two unhappy men tried to sort out the problem that was Ms. Adler. Sherlock took a seat in front of the fireplace, turned away from his brother and the dominatrix who sat at a large table on the other side of the room. The unhappy memories combined with the impending doom of a mistake to this extent made even Sherlock stressed. He unconsciously rubbed his thumb against his index finger, while maintaining a tight fist. Staring into the flames of the fireplace, he listened to their conversation.

"We have people who can get into this." Mycroft stated, pointing at the camera phone that rested on the table.

"I tested that theory for you." Irene answered. "I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment while she continued. "Sherlock dear! Tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone." Irene called, but kept her eyes on Mycroft.

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspected any acid or small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive." Sherlock answer without emotion. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Explosive… It's more me." Irene added.

"Some data is always recoverable." Mycroft argued.

"Take that risk." The dominatrix tempted.

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say that we have people who can extract it from you." The older Holmes suggested.

"Sherlock?" Irene asked him to explain.

"There'll be two passcodes. One to open the phone and one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there would be no point in a second attempt." Sherlock answered quietly. With every shot-down idea, Mycroft grew more tired. Irene sighed while look in Sherlock's direction.

"He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash… in fact I might." She said calmly. The detective pondered this…

"_it was unnecessary to say that… very unnecessary…"_

"We destroy this phone. Then no one has the information." Mycroft continued to think up plans.

"Fine. Good idea." Irene nodded, but quickly looked sinister. "Unless there are the lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?" he asked.

"Telling you would be playing fair." Irene teased. "I'm not playing anymore."

Sherlock continued to look into the fire, but his eyes were staring at the woman in his peripherals. Irene reached inside her black purse and pulled out a letter-folded paper.

"A list of my requests… and some ideas about my protection once they are granted." She said as she slid the paper across the table. Mycroft cautiously picked it up and began reading. "I'd say it won't blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation… but then I'd be lying." Irene said honestly as Mycroft sighed at the requests written. "I'd imagine you'd like to sleep on it."

"…yes, thank you-" Mycroft began.

"Too bad." Irene answered while staring at him. Sherlock smirked from his chair by the fireplace while Mycroft was surprised. "Have you often talked to people?" Irene almost laughed. Mycroft sat back in his chair and sighed.

"You've been very thorough… I wish our lot were half as good as you." He admitted with slight shame.

"I can't take all the credit…" Irene smiled, and then turned to look in Sherlock's direction. "Jim Moriarty sends his love." Sherlock slowly widened his eyes at the statement.

"_Moriarty…"_

"Yes, he's been in touch. He seems desperate for my attention." Mycroft spoke as if Moriarty were just an annoying cousin.

"I had all this stuff…" Irene began, getting up from her place and sitting on the table, closer to Mycroft. "... never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal."

Sherlock sat in silence, the wheels turning in his head.

"He gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes' boys." Irene smiled down at Mycroft. "Do you know what he calls you?" she asked. Mycroft looked up at her with fake interest. "The ice man." She whispered. Glancing over at Sherlock, she shared his nickname as well. "… and the virgin."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge her comment as he continued to ponder.

"Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man." She added. Sherlock could see that she was still looking at him, while his head was turned.

"_She's looking for a reaction."_ He thought.

"Here you are. The dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees." Mycroft said as he stood up. Sherlock took a sharp breath at the word "dominatrix".

"_She's trained herself to act in love with her customers… she used those acting skills to fool me, but then why would she still. Be. Acting? The leash, the admiration of Moriarty… all unnecessary. She's trying too hard to prove her affections were a lie." _

"Nicely played." Mycroft congratulated with pain. Irene nodded to him and went for a handshake, when Sherlock finally spoke.

"No." he said simply. Both looked towards him, with Irene being the first to object.

"Sorry?" she said while still smiling. Sherlock paused for a moment before turning to look at his brother and the woman.

"I said no." he repeated, "very, very close but no." the detective got up from his chair and slowly walked toward her. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much." He neared Irene who continued to seem unfazed.

"There's no such thing as too much." She joked.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Creating the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely, but sentiment…" he stood over her now, speaking in his usual and strong voice. "Sentiment is a dead giveaway to even the most complex plans and even sometimes the reason for them."

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?" Irene played. Sherlock replied instantly.

"You."

Irene's smile disappeared as she felt worry creep into her system. But thanks to years of acting, she used her expression as sarcasm.

"Oh dear God… look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you?" she paused, staring into those grey eyes. "Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?" she laughed.

"No…" Sherlock said quietly, in the deep and rumbling voice she secretly loved. He gently took her hand, leaning close to her. Slowly putting his mouth next to her ear, he whispered to her. "Because I took your pulse."

"_Why… would I want… to have dinner…" he said slowly, taking her hand that rested on his own. "…if I wasn't hungry?"_

Sherlock pressed his fingers against her wrist as Irene felt her heart beat faster.

"Elevated heartbeat. Your pupils dilated." He whispered, letting go of her hand and reaching for the camera phone that was on the table. "That, and you're suspicious actions towards Jo-Ann and I…" he continued as Irene was frozen in place, though her eyes followed him. He stood directly in front of her, ignoring a fairly confused Mycroft. "You thought there was something between us." Sherlock said as Irene felt her heart ache at the thought. "I imagine Jo-Ann thinks love is a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and _very_ destructive. When we first met, you told me that a disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe was your measurements, but this is far more than measurement…" Sherlock flipped the phone in the air, catching it gracefully as he prepared to enter the key.

I am

Locked

"This is your heart." He entered the first number. "…and you should never let it rule your head." _second _"You could have chosen any combination of random numbers and walked out of here with everything you worked for… but you just couldn't resist it… Could you?" _third _"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage… thank you for the final proof." He was about to press the final number, when Irene quickly grabbed his arm.

"Everything I said…" she swallowed the crack in her voice, "It's not real. I was just playing the game." She whispered the lie.

"I know…" Sherlock whispered back, _fourth_ "…And this is just losing."

He turned the phone to hold it in front of her. Irene let the tears fall as she stared at the message always surrounding her heart.

I am

SHER

Locked

The phone chirped in granted access, lighting up with numerous files the dominatrix tried to keep secret. Sherlock handed the mobile to Mycroft, while still looking at Irene.

"There you are, brother. I hope its contents make up for any inconvenience I've caused you tonight."

"Oh it certainly will." Mycroft said happily, receiving the phone and instantly looking through its contents. Sherlock walked away from the crying woman, making his way to the door.

"If you're kind, lock her up. Otherwise, let her go." Sherlock spoke to his brother. "I doubt she'll survive long without her protection." He grabbed his coat off the armrest of a chair and continued to put it on.

"Are you expecting me to beg?!" Irene asked with a weak voice.

"Yes." Sherlock replied with his back to her. Irene swallowed her pride and the lump in her throat and pleaded… deciding shame was better than death.

"Please." The word left silence upon the three. "You're right." Irene admitted, making Sherlock turn to look at her. "I won't even last a month…" she finished. The detective put on his scarf and spoke as he exited the room.

"Sorry about dinner." He said coldly, leaving the woman on her own… with nothing to protect her. She watched him leave, letting the echo of the creaking door fill her ears and tears stream down her cheeks.

Jo-Ann lay on her soft bed, facing the ceiling and holding a mirror above her. Since Irene had left, the doctor had pondered the thought of her appearance… she knew she didn't look like the back end of a donkey, but could she even compete with a woman as beautiful as Irene? The pondering led to curiosity… which led to Jo-Ann applying various make-ups that she hadn't used for months. Staring into the mirror, she had to admit she looked different…

Deep red lipstick smoothly graced her lips with black eye liner, black mascara, and even a bit of eyebrow pencil. Paired with cover-up power and light blush, Jo-Ann looked like another woman. While the make-up was rather heavy and confining, it made her feel better about herself.

"_Man… I'm acting like a little girl…" _Jo-Ann scolded in her head, but bitterly smiled into the mirror. _"Now to take care of these hips—"_ she began, but heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. She shot up straight, putting the mirror aside. "Sherlock?" she whispered. "Sherlock!" she said louder as she got up from the bed and ran out the door.

The detective walked up the steps feeling tired from the night's events… but he didn't expect to Jo-Ann to be running down her steps and meeting him at the door of the living room. She abruptly stopped on the bottom step, seeing she was about to crash into her flatmate, making her hair swish around her jaw.

"Sherlock!" She greeted cheerfully, moving a strand of hair from her mouth. Sherlock was happy to see that she was worried about him, due to her entrance. But then he stared for a moment, doing a once-over at her appearance. She wore the same striped sweater and jeans from earlier, but her face was covered in tacky make-up. Holding back a laugh, he asked for her reason.

"Why are you wearing all that on your face?"

Jo-Ann's eyes widened as she remembered her embarrassing state. She blushed as she tried to wipe away some of the powder with her sleeve.

"I-I-I was just trying out new make-up tricks!" Jo-Ann said quickly, wiping off the other cheek and walking onto the landing. Not being able to hold back his laughter, Sherlock burst into a fit of chuckles.

"Oh Jo-Ann! You look absolutely ludicrous!" he said between breaths. The doctor blushed fiercely at his comment, and felt rather… hurt. She choked back the tears tempting to form and yelled at him.

"Well I don't look any better without it! You-you… Billy-no-mates!" she said quickly with no better insult coming to mind. Sherlock giggled the last bits of his laugh, but silenced when he looked at Jo-Ann. She appeared genuinely hurt, hiding her blushing face with blonde hair. He stood up straight and walked closer to her.

"Hey…" he nearly whispered, moving the hair away from her face. She looked up, dark blue and teary eyes meeting light blue and clear ones. "Take that gunk off your face. I want to see _you_." He said without a smile, displaying his seriousness. Jo-Ann's eyes were wide, blinking away the last of her tears. She wiped her eye with her sleeve, but was annoyed to see smears of eye liner on it.

"…Okay…" she answered, turning around and running back up the steps. Sherlock smiled at her embarrassment, and walked into the flat.

Jo-Ann wiped away the last bits of her make-up, but realized the red in her cheeks wasn't powder. Without trying, she smiled in the mirror. She did look better without make-up… and Sherlock thought so too. Jo-Ann kept smiling as she dried her face and let down her hair once more.

Swiftly going down the stairs, Jo-Ann was suddenly hit with the smell of something burning. Knowing Sherlock and his habits, she ran down the stairs at top speed. She skid in front of the door, placing a hand on each side of the frame.

"SHERLOCK!" she shouted, catching the attention of the detective… who was standing in the middle of the room holding his robe that was currently on fire. Jo-Ann rushed to action by running through the kitchen and grabbing the fire extinguisher. She stumbled into the living room and sprayed the white foam over the burning robe. "What the HELL were you doing?!" she yelled. Sherlock blinked a few times behind his experimenting goggles. He held up his robe a bit higher, twirling it in his fingers while looking at the foam.

"Well that was uncalled for." He stated simply. Jo-Ann furrowed her brow in confusion as she set the extinguisher on the floor.

"Uncalled for?! You were setting your robe on fire! I think that calls for." Jo-Ann sighed as Sherlock took another look at the burnt object.

"I wasn't going to let it get out of hand…" Sherlock complained. "And I was only doing it because that woman wore it. It's been contaminated." He said disapprovingly, dropping the robe on the floor. Jo-Ann tried to stay angry… but her laughter got the better of her. Chuckling to herself, she noticed the detective smiling at her. "I'm glad to see your natural complexion" He said quietly. Jo-Ann smiled up at her detective, and without warning, wrapped him in warm embrace. She hugged around his waist, snuggling into his chest. Sherlock, stunned by the sudden action, froze for a moment. Jo-Ann could hear his heartbeat, and smiled at its pace. Sherlock awkwardly returned the hug, slow and unsure.

"So did you 'save the world'?" Jo-Ann broke the silence, still keeping the embrace.

"Oh I think so…" Sherlock answered, getting used to the warmth of the woman in his arms. Jo-Ann pulled away enough to look directly up to her flatmate.

"I knew you would." She smiled an honest smile, "I know you told me you weren't _a _hero…" she settled back into the hug, closing her eyes. "But you'll always be _my_ hero."

Sherlock felt a skip in his pulse and tickle in his stomach at her words.

"_Damn you emotions."_ He was going to reply… but all clever comebacks suddenly fled his mind. Jo-Ann's arms loosened, ready to end the embrace. Sherlock panicked and squeezed her tighter.

"Sher-?" Jo-Ann began to question, but was instantly interrupted.

"I'm cold." Sherlock blurted out the excuse, arms remaining firm.

"Sherlock you're wearing your suit jacket and there's a fire going—"

"I'm cold." He repeated.

"Sher-"

"Just shut up and stay still." The detective finished the argument. His face was burning red, making him thank the Lord Jo-Ann couldn't see it. The doctor held back her laugh of disbelief and returned the hug… greatly enjoying the speed of his heartbeat.

Sherlock pushed open the grand doors to the Mind Palace Ballroom, letting hazelnut scent flood his senses. Jo-Ann's voice softly filled his ears, the sound coming from the floating memory orbs all around the room. The sound of her mixed with the gentle violin created a symphony of elegant music. He strolled to the middle of the room, wearing his black skinny jeans and purple dress shirt. Sitting cross-legged on the diamond pattern floor, Sherlock gazed up at the hundreds of floating memories. Each encased in golden glow, the bubbles lazily traveled throughout the room. One of them drifted closer to him, causing Sherlock to reach out to it. He held it in both hands, pulling it in front of him. I floated in his hands, staying in place but not touching his pale palms. The memory was Jo-Ann stroking his hair when he was sick, massaging his scalp in motions that made him fall asleep. Sherlock smiled sincerely at the orb before releasing it back into the air. He caught another that drifted close by, this one much smaller in size than the last. The little bubble was filled with a pitch black scene, but sound still emitted from it.

"_Good night, Sherlock Holmes…"_ Jo-Ann's voice whispered from the sphere. Sherlock couldn't see any visual memory, but holding the orb made him feel what happened in that moment. A small area on his left cheek became warm for a second, before returning to normal temperature. Sherlock looked with confusion, but heard Jo-Ann's voice repeat the phrase. _"Good night, Sherlock Holmes..."_ Then the warmth appeared again. It took a minute, but Sherlock figured out what was happening… whenever that memory occurred, Jo-Ann was… kissing his cheek. He blushed at the realization and quickly let go of the orb. It floated away lazily, joining the many others above the detective's head. Sherlock breathed in and out slowly, pondering the memory.

Jo-Ann kissed his cheek? When? It could have happened at any time the detective was sleeping. He was sleeping during that time because of the darkness of the memory and Jo-Ann's words "good night". He thought thoroughly about it, but couldn't help but smile in disbelief. Jo-Ann kissed him… kissed his cheek…

The detective slapped himself mentally (even in the Mind Palace) and scolded his thoughts for being so sappy. Love was a disadvantage… for fools and idiots. It was a weakness that was completely obvious to enemies. Hell, Moriarty knew Sherlock cared for Jo-Ann before Sherlock himself even knew. His life was too dangerous to have such a weakness as sentiment… look where it got Ms. Adler.

But Jo-Ann was no damsel in distress… even when strapped with explosives she jumped on the back of the enemy. She attempted to kill the Gollum assassin, shot a psychopath from a building over, fought for her life while tied up in a chair and with a gash in her head, leapt across rooftops, and fearlessly dealt with Sherlock when he was bored. She could certainly handle herself…

Then call Sherlock a vulnerable fool…

…Because he's in love.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello! I'm planning to update every Wednesday :) **** Anyway, in this chapter, I left out Mycroft's quote: "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, and yet he elects to be a detective… what might we deduce about his heart?" because I couldn't entirely understand it and use it in the correct way for the story's path. If anyone wants to review with their perception of the quote, please do. Maybe by truly understanding it can I use it in future chapters?**

**Thank you **

Chapter 21

Mycroft Holmes stood outside Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Café, waiting for a certain doctor to arrive. It had been three months since the Adler incident, and Jo-Ann arranged the meeting to finally get the concluded result. Rain poured down heavily on the Government official, but luckily was blocked by his black umbrella. He frowned at the cigarette in his fingers, disappointed at the returning habit.

"You don't smoke?"

Mycroft turned to his right to see the doctor he was waiting for. Jo-Ann finally arrived, however soaked due to the rain. Her wet hair was pulled up in a ponytail, letting only her bangs cling to her face, her green rain jacket doing a so-so job of keeping her dry. Mycroft sighed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his expensive shoes.

"I also don't frequent cafés." He replied, swiftly closing his umbrella and carrying his briefcase inside.

Jo-Ann and Mycroft were seated immediately at a small table with a "reserved" card placed on top.

"_The power complex strikes again."_ Jo-Ann chuckled to herself. After settling down, removing coats and ordering coffee, Mycroft quietly placed a plastic covered pile of documents on the table. Jo-Ann glanced at it a few times before speaking.

"Is that the file on Irene Adler?" she asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

"Closed forever." Mycroft smiled for a moment. Somehow that smile always scared Jo-Ann. "I'm about to go and inform my brother… or if you prefer, you are." Mycroft offered. Jo-Ann understood his reasons and listened intently. "One of us will tell him that Adler somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America… New name, new identity, she will survive and thrive." Mycroft explained, however his story seemed a bit too happy. "But he will never see her again."

"Why would he care?" Jo-Ann replied instantly, and with a hint of anger. "He despised her in the end. Won't even mention her by name… just 'the woman'."

"Is that loathing? Or despise?" Mycroft asked cleverly. "One of a kind. The one woman who matters."

"He's not like that." Jo-Ann argued. "He wouldn't feel that way… about her… I-I don't think." She felt her face grow a bit hotter. "And what do you mean 'the one woman that matters'? I mean I matter too… j-just a bit, you know… a-and he never said _the _woman, he just said… the woman… no-no individual uniqueness about that." Jo-Ann finished with a plain expression, although her words were so obvious. Mycroft stared at her with an un-amused look. Jo-Ann took another sip of her coffee and continued to speak. "He-He'll be fine with this witness protection scheme, never seeing her again… he'll be fine."

"I agree." Mycroft nodded. "…That's why I decided to tell him that." Jo-Ann tilted her head at this, pausing for a moment.

"…Instead of what?" she asked. Mycroft continued to stare at her, expressionless, before answering.

"She's dead." He replied.

Sherlock paced back and forth inside 221B, hands folded together underneath his chin. What do people do when they're in love? Love was a very big and vague word that can be expressed in countless ways. _The Woman _showed a side of love… was that how to show it? Seemed a bit… nerve racking. Jo-Ann certainly didn't like it when _The Woman_ expressed her feelings that way, being noticeably uncomfortable. Jo-Ann liked romance, sentiment, all the sappy things that made would've make Sherlock gag a few months ago. He still felt a little sick at what some people would do to express love that wouldn't last.

But what could Sherlock do to show Jo-Ann he _really_ loves her?

Maybe if he went to the Ballroom he could… Sherlock's eyes suddenly widened, lighting up with the new idea. The Mind Palace Ballroom always had violin music playing in the background… a song he never played in reality before. So what if he really concentrated and composed that melody? It would be a gift that came from his heart, as sappy as the idea was. Sherlock quickly started looking for blank sheet music to begin the project.

"She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded." Mycroft explained. Jo-Ann took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. Staring intently at the older Holmes, she replied.

"Is it defiantly her? She's done this before."

"I was thorough this time." Mycroft reassured. "It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand… do you?" he commented. Jo-Ann thought back and didn't recall any spontaneous vacations taken by the detective, so he couldn't have been in Karachi within the past three months. "So…" Mycroft continued, pushing the plastic covered files across the table. "What should we tell Sherlock?"

Sherlock played a sweet and elegant note, writing it down on the blank sheet music paper. It took him a few minutes to focus all his thoughts on the melody of his mind, but managed to replicate part of it in reality. Focusing his energy and mind on it once again, he got ready to play the next set of notes. But the sound of the door opening and closing caught his attention. He quickly put down his violin and grabbed the sheet music, looking for a place to hide it.

Jo-Ann slowly walked up the stairs, clutching the paperwork in her hands. What should she tell him? If she told him the truth, about Irene dying, than he might want to investigate or become depressed. If she told him that Irene was alive, he might want to meet her to discover the secrets Mycroft didn't tell him. But as clever as Sherlock was, he could probably tell if Jo-Ann lied or not.

"OK, you've got news." Jo-Ann heard Sherlock's voice before she even peaked in the door. "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener." He said swiftly. Jo-Ann fully walked into the kitchen, staring in amazement at the detective who sat conducting an experiment. "Nobody noticed the earring." He finished. He wore a black dress shirt today, pared with even darker pants. With his grey eyes (since he was examining) and pale skin, it was like he was in black and white telly.

"_A detective in black and white." _Jo-Ann almost chuckled to herself. It would be like one of those old movies made in the '30s if Sherlock wasn't looking through a modern microscope. Noticing she was taking a while to respond, Jo-Ann snapped out of it and replied to her detective.

"No, it's-um…" She began regrettably, "It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock looked up from his experiment with genuine surprise. "Oh?" he asked. Jo-Ann felt a bit upset at his reaction, hoping he would just hum in response and not care. "Did something happen? Did she come back?" he asked casually, although the doctor could tell it was with actual concern.

"Er-no she's, uh-I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call." Jo-Ann said unsteadily, trying to change the subject's direction.

"She back in London?" Sherlock asked, getting up from his seat.

"…she's uh-…" Jo-Ann tried to decide rapidly what to say, while staring at one of the kitchen cabinets instead of Sherlock. Months ago, when Sherlock heard about her first 'death' he went in a downward spiral… could that happen a second time? He could actually have affections for the dominatrix… after all, she's the only woman to fool him, EVER. If he did like her even the slightest bit… Jo-Ann felt the urge to tell him Irene was dead. As selfish as it was, it was also the truth. Inhaling a sharp breath, she turned to him with words ready on her tongue, when their eyes met.

Sherlock stared into her blue eyes with his sharp grey ones. His expression was focused and firm, as if looking past all her secrets and waiting for the absolute truth. He wanted to know, badly, what truly happened to that woman.

Despite her want of Irene Adler to disappear from his mind, she couldn't do it. Jo-Ann couldn't go through seeing Sherlock depressed again or saddened by the woman's death. Even if it meant her detective having someone else in his thoughts… his well-being had to come first.

"She's in America." Jo-Ann said in the calmest voice she could muster. Sherlock looked surprised and relived at the same time, but asked with curiosity.

"America?"

"Uh-huh!" Jo-Ann nodded. "Got herself in a witness protection scheme apparently." Sherlock continued to stare with speculation, listening intently. "I-I don't know how she swung it… but, uh-well, you know… she knows what they like." Jo-Ann chuckled to herself, although feeling awful about lying to Sherlock. "So-em… you won't be able to… see her again…" Jo-Ann began averting her eyes.

"Why would I want to see her again?" Sherlock asked instantly with a hint of disgust. Jo-Ann looked down and smiled a bit.  
"Didn't say you did…"

"Is that her file?" Sherlock asked, walking back to his experiment.

"Uh-yes I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." Jo-Ann said while turning to the door. "Do you want to…?" she motioned the file to him, but was met with an instant head-shake. Jo-Ann nodded, but didn't walk out just yet. She looked back at Sherlock, who was looking through his microscope once again. He looked unfazed and emotionless, but she couldn't help feeling guilty for not telling the truth. "Listen, actually-"

"But I will have the camera phone then." Sherlock interrupted, holding out his hand for the phone. Jo-Ann paused for a moment and looked down at the camera phone within the plastic cover of the files.

"There's nothing on it, it's been struck." The doctor replied.

"I know, but I'll still have it." Sherlock said quietly, still holding out his hand and looking through the microscope.

"I-I've got to get this back to Mycroft…" Jo-Ann kept thinking of excuses. "_He wants a souvenir of her?!" _she thought in anger. "…You can't keep it." Sherlock kept his hand out. "Sherlock, you can't have it-it's the Government's now I-I couldn't…"

"Please." Sherlock said more than asked and reached his hand out further. Anger and jealousy getting the better of her, Jo-Ann kept arguing.

"N…No." Jo-Ann said without giving her mouth permission. Thinking Adler was alive was enough; he shouldn't need the bloody camera phone! Sherlock looked up from his experiment, a bit shocked at her response.

"What did you say?" he asked. Jo-Ann swallowed down the lump in her throat and continued to refuse.

"I said no. You can't have it." She said firmly, standing proudly in her place. Sherlock lowered the hand he was reaching out, but to Jo-Ann's dismay, stood up.

"I said give me the phone." He ordered. He began walking towards her, not being scary or intimidating, but determined.

"N-No!" Jo-Ann continued to resist.

"Jo-Ann…" Sherlock warned, inching closer and closer. The doctor panicked and took the phone out of the plastic, placing the rest of the papers on the floor.

"No! No you can't have it!" she shouted, holding the phone in her hands and her body threatening to run.

"I. said. Give it!" Sherlock said in a childish manner, beginning to chase her. Jo-Ann ran out the door, Sherlock in tow. The detective kept a close tail on the doctor and ran ahead of her to block her exit. Slamming his body against the front door, he quickly shouted, "Give me the phone!"

"Never!" Jo-Ann yelled and began running back up the steps. Sherlock followed, a bit clumsily at first. The doctor unsteadily ran into the living room, in hopes of wearing out the detective and making her escape. Sherlock fell a bit behind but reached the living room within a few seconds. Jo-Ann quickly ran behind the coffee table by the loveseats, making their chase go in half-circles.

"Jo-Ann! Give me the phone!" Sherlock ordered while moving to the right, making Jo-Ann move the opposite way.

"I said NO!"

"You misunderstand! I just want it to-"

"NO!" Jo-Ann continued to resist. Sherlock quickly ran around the right side of the table, giving Jo-Ann her route for escape. She bolted, not expecting Sherlock to actually climb _over_ the table. With a grunt and a yelp, both fell to the floor in an instant.

Sherlock held both of Jo-Ann's wrists to the floor, folding his knees and legs to keep her down. She blushed furiously, trying to look at anything besides his face that was directly above hers. But panic suddenly hit her when she couldn't feel the phone in either hand. Jo-Ann looked to her left just in time to see Sherlock let go of her wrist and snatch the phone that was inches away.

"Thank you." Sherlock said with a teasing tone and placed it in his pocket. But instead of letting her go, he held onto both Jo-Ann's wrists again. "Why did you keep it from me?" he asked seriously. Jo-Ann gulped a bit and still averted her eyes.

"Well why do you need it? It's just a bloody stupid camera phone…" she mumbled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but continued to speak seriously.

"Because this phone has a screen made of the same materials as another that is involved with my case. If I use this to experiment on I might clear a man's name." he replied, making Jo-Ann look up at him in shock. "Why did you keep it from me?" he asked again. She felt her face heat up, looking in his now blue eyes.

"B…Because…" she tried to explain. But at this moment, as awkward as it was at first, they were close together… and he was asking more than he thought. She kept it from him because she was jealous of Irene. Jo-Ann couldn't deny it…

She loves Sherlock. Every bit of him.

As crazy as it was, as much as it hurt to be with him sometimes, she couldn't help it. The way he spoke, the way he moved, his entire essence and who he was captured her heart. The three words, the ones people either dread or enjoy, stuck in her throat. They slowly made their way to her tongue, with her heart beating rapidly and her face becoming even redder.

"…B-Because I lo-"

"Are you two having a domestic?" Mrs. Hudson called as she neared the door. "I heard all this noissse…." She trailed off at the sight of Sherlock pinning Jo-Ann to the ground, the doctor with a bright red face. "O-Oh! I'm so sorry dearies I-I" She stuttered and began to back out the door. Jo-Ann panicked, making her face go as red as possible.

"IT-IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" She shouted and squirmed underneath the detective… accidentally kneeing him between the legs in the process.

"Sorry Sherlock…" Jo-Ann apologized, handing him a fresh bag of ice to hold to his wound.

"It's fine-ahem- It's fine…" Sherlock said in a higher voice then corrected himself. "I forgive you." Jo-Ann sat next to him on the couch and held her face in her hands out of embarrassment. Holding the ice and talking through the pain, he spoke. "What were you uh… going to say before Mrs. Hudson came in?" He asked while closing his eyes from pain. Jo-Ann felt her heart skip a beat, realizing she was about to confess to her flatmate. In panic, she tried to think of something else to say.

"I…was going to say… it was because I… llloathe that woman." Jo-Ann smiled with her new excuse. "I don't want any reminders of her being here."

"I can understand that…" Sherlock chuckled, but winced in pain again.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Jo-Ann held her head again in shame. Sherlock laughed a bit.

"I said I forgive you." He smiled.

* * *

"Life with Sherlock" blog entry #12 by Dr. Jo-Ann Watson.

Hello again, everyone. As you may have guessed by past uploads, the "Life with Sherlock" entries are centered on everyday life with the world's only consulting detective. No cases or mysteries, just the "normal" occurrences that happen with Sherlock. However, this entry is about an abnormal happening I witnessed a few days ago… Sherlock smiled at me. Now you may think there is nothing special about that, but I beg to differ. Sherlock doesn't smile without a reason… You know a joke or an interesting murder. This time, he just… smiled. I was cleaning some papers off one of the coffee tables in the living room, just organizing and tidying up. Not really thinking about it, I glanced over at Sherlock who was conducting an experiment in the kitchen. But to my ultimate surprise, he was already looking at me, smiling. Upon meeting my gaze, he turned back to his experiment, a smile still present on his lips although faded. I quickly examined my clothes and face for anything he could laugh at, a coffee stain or something in my teeth, but nothing was there. My shirt was clean, my face had no crumbs, and I'm most certain my underwear was covered. So what was he smiling at?

Who knows when you live with Sherlock Holmes.


	22. Chapter 22

***'s by dialogue means it will be explained at the end of the chapter **** :) You are all completely wonderful ^_^**

Chapter 22

Three Months Ago…

Foreign voices chattered away, making a black-dressed woman kneel on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. She held her phone in her hands, clutching onto it as she typed the lasts words she would ever say…

_Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. _

Irene sent the message in silence, handing the phone to one of her kidnappers nearby. The executioner walked over, menacingly carrying a large sword in his glove-covered hands. The sharp steel pressed at the back of her neck, making Irene close her eyes with tears welling up, ready to accept her death. The tall man raised the large sword, ready to come down and behead her, when…

"Ahh!~"

Irene's eyes shot open, letting tears run down her cheeks. She glanced up at the executioner, who had stunning blue eyes.

"When I say run…" he whispered in a most familiar voice, "…Run." Sherlock, disguised and in character, went to lower the sword, when he turned around to defeat the terrorists who kidnapped Irene. The Woman sighed in place, closing her eyes and smiling, letting new tears fall. Sherlock slayed two men, ready to face the others who were far from Irene. "Run!" he shouted the command, causing Ms. Adler to immediately obey. She ran over to the door opened it with a great amount of strength. But she was surprised to find that no one waiting for her outside. "Close it!" Sherlock ordered while continuing to fight. Irene nodded and pushed the heavy door closed behind her. She breathed rapidly, placing her hands on her chest.

"_He'll be fine… He'll be fine…" _she thought, but still couldn't help but worry. After a few minutes, the door began to creak open, making the dominatrix jump and ready herself to run. However, tears came to her eyes once again to see Sherlock, mask removed, emerged from the door.

"Sh… Sherlock!" she breathed and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He became stiff and pushed her away slightly.

"Don't get too excited… I have my reasons." Sherlock said, putting his sword against the outside wall of the warehouse. Irene fully let go but continued to be close.

"Oh I know your reasons… shall I repay you?" she asked with a wink. Sherlock rolled his eyes… not even ten minutes ago did she almost die and she was already being a flirt.

"No not that… a life for a life." He told her, fishing through the hidden pockets of the black robes.

"What do you mean?" Irene asked.

"When Jo-Ann and I were almost killed by Moriarty, a phone call interrupted him, thus saving our lives." He explained, pulling out a slip of paper. "It was _you_ that called… wasn't it?" Sherlock looked at her. Irene gulped a bit and slowly answered.

"…How did you know that?"

"Simple." Sherlock replied, "Call history, time, date, all obvious."

"I delete my call history." Irene argued, but was met with instant truth.

"You delete call history every two months, mainly because that's how long it takes to buy or trade secrets, correct? That and Moriarty's exact words just spelled your name. I got a hold of your phone when we first met, when you were examining Kate and ordering my doctor to go check the back door. Finding it was easy, since you obviously didn't have it on your person at the time. It was resting on your nightstand, a common place to put it. The combination of your unconscious driver and petty competition with Jo-Ann gave me enough time to swipe the phone and check the call history of the time and date of I and Moriarty's first meeting, which was within your history-deleting time period. His number is, of course, unidentified. But I glanced at my watch when he answered his phone on that day and recorded it. The time of your call and the time of his answering were a match. Obvious." Sherlock finished, handing Irene the small slip of paper with a map drawn on it and her mobile phone. "Go to this location immediately. Say the key words 'It's Elementary' to the property owner and he will further take care of you. Once his instructions run out, you're on your own." He said, walking away from the stunned woman.

"Wa-Wait a minute!" Irene called out, "I don't know where this is!"

"The town not an hour away in walking time, that direction." Sherlock pointed down the road that lined up the front of the warehouse. Climbing into a jeep parked nearby, he reached under the seat and pulled out a pile of Middle-Eastern women clothes. "Put these on and cover your face." He tossed the pile to her, making her catch them ungracefully. "The town is small so the gate keepers should let you in. Don't speak unless it's to the man at that location and don't mention your failed execution, obviously. I'd give you a ride but that would cause suspicion." Sherlock finished in a cold tone and started the car. Irene smiled, holding tightly onto the materials he gave her.

"Will I ever see you again?" she asked with hope. Sherlock sighed and began to drive away.

"Best of luck to you, Ms. Adler!" he shouted, and sped away on the close by road. Irene stared in the direction he left, happy but disheartened at the same time.

"…Goodbye… Mr. Holmes…"

Jo-Ann typed away on her blog, although switching tabs to talk with Stamford on chat. Smiling at the computer screen, she slowly started to feel like she was being watched. Shrugging off the thought she continued to type while sitting on the couch. She gasped when she saw fingertips on the top of her laptop screen.

"Jo-Ann…" Sherlock said quietly from behind her computer. "What are you doing?" he asked. His voice sounded childish, the tone most used when he was bored.

"Blog entry." Jo-Ann replied, trying to focus on her typing. Mike Stamford sent a message, making the doctor panic a little because of their conversation topic. She switched tabs and read the message.

_Are you sure you love him? I mean you know what you're getting into right? – MS_

Sherlock tried peeking over the screen, causing Jo-Ann to quickly switch tabs again.

"Are you chatting with someone?" the detective asked, sitting on the far end of the couch and wearing his purple dress shirt and black jeans. Jo-Ann cleared her throat a bit, cheeks starting to heat up.

"Yeah, Stamford." She answered reluctantly. She kept that tab hidden, waiting for Sherlock to get far enough away. _Scoot_. Jo-Ann heard him move a bit closer on the couch, but her eyes didn't leave the screen. _Scoot. _The doctor kept typing about the Leeds' triple murder case, mentioning the earring. _Scoot, bump. _Sherlock finally reached the limit and was hip-to-hip with Jo-Ann.

"Jo-Ann… I'm bored." He complained. She sighed and continued to type.

"Why don't you work on that song you said you were composing?" Jo-Ann suggested.

"I can't do that with you around." Sherlock groaned, leaning his head back on the sofa.

"Why not? I like your music." Jo-Ann replied.

"Because. And why aren't you replying to that message?" the detective investigated.

"Umm… I can't do that with you around." The doctor smiled. Sherlock shot a glare at her for copying him.

"Why not?" He asked in an offended tone.

"…Because." Jo-Ann giggled. Sherlock took a few more glances at her after huffing and crossing his arms. Jo-Ann kept smiling as she summited the new blog entry.

"Tellllll meeeeee….." Sherlock whined and leaned back again, dragging his hands slowly down his face.

"Nope." Jo-Ann said, leaning forward and grabbing a book of the coffee table. "Why don't you try this?" she asked, handing the detective a Sudoku book. He glanced at it, and immediately ignored it. "Come on Sherlock~" Jo-Ann encouraged. In hopes of giving him motivation she continued. "…I dare you." She smiled. Sherlock looked at her with slight curiosity. "I dare you to complete the fifty puzzles inside this book in… two minutes or less."

"In exchange for what?" he tilted his head, unconsciously taking the book from her. Jo-Ann thought for a moment, holding her chin and looking at her computer screen. The tab for the chat with Mike Stamford… the doctor got a risky idea.

"… If you solve those puzzles in two minutes… I will let you see the message from Stamford." She said as she turned her head to face him. He raised an eye brow, flipping through the pages.

"Two minutes?" he asked.

"Yep." Jo-Ann confirmed. Sherlock grabbed a pen off the coffee table and glanced at the clock that was ten seconds to a full minute.

"Deal." He replied. The doctor nodded and when the clock turned, gave Sherlock permission to start. Jo-Ann smiled to herself confident in the bet. But then again… he did figure out that 007 e-mail in about two seconds… but this was an entire book of Sudoku at a high level, there was no way-

"Done." Sherlock said, handing her the filled book. Jo-Ann gasped, quickly grabbing it from his hands and flipping through the pages. Solved, all of them solved… in a minute and a half. She gulped, looking back at her detective in disbelief. "Let's see it then." He smiled. Jo-Ann gulped again and blushed, reluctantly looking back at her computer.

"…Now remember…" she began downsizing the window. "… I said I would show you the _one _message…" switching tabs, she quickly scrolled to the message through a window only big enough to see one sentence at a time. Turning the laptop slightly towards Sherlock, Jo-Ann felt instant regret of giving him an activity… kind of like Cluedo. He read the message in seconds and raised an eyebrow.

"Well that's meaningless if I don't know who he's talking about." Sherlock complained. "Who is it?" he looked at his doctor. Jo-Ann felt her entire body tense at the question, which she knew he would notice.

"A friend of mine…" Jo-Ann answered. "I-I said I would show you the message, not that I would explain it." She said in a hurry and closed the laptop. Sherlock looked at her with confusion, watching her put a hair behind her ear that escaped her low ponytail. Jo-Ann loves someone else?...

"…_It could be _me _by the way she's acting…" _the detective thought but became instantly saddened. _"…but I don't want to get my hopes up like that. No assumption, I must know for sure." _He decided. Jo-Ann glanced at him and became annoyed.

"It-It doesn't matter!" she said loudly, getting up from the couch and placing the laptop on the desk.

"It does." Sherlock argued and got up as well. Jo-Ann laughed a bit and stared at her hands on the desk. She had to be clever about this… she wasn't ready to tell him.

"Why does it mat….ter…." Jo-Ann turned around to argue, not knowing Sherlock was standing directly behind her. Eyes lined up with his chest, she blushed and slowly looked up at his face. He stared at her intensely, even more serious than when he asked about Irene. His eyebrows were pushed together, heavily rested on his piercing grey eyes. His lips pressed closed, slightly opening when he was ready to speak.

"…Tell me. Now." Sherlock whispered firmly.

Jo-Ann felt her heart nearly pop, beating faster and faster at the impending doom of embarrassment. If she told him, they would never be the same. It would get complicated, bring factors like physical attraction, dates, and other things couples did into the picture. But… they were so close… even with the height difference, their breath mixed together. If Sherlock took a single step forward, he would have the doctor in his arms. The essence of him made her want to tell him everything… her secrets, her hopes, her dreams… and her feelings.

"Sherlock…" Jo-Ann whispered, and closed her eyes. "I-" Jo-Ann began to confess when the doorbell, once again, interrupted one of Sherlock's most important moments.

"Oh HELL I thought I shot that bloody thing!" Sherlock yelled, slowly turning to the door way and growing angrier. Reaching around his doctor, he opened one of the desk drawers. Jo-Ann silently gasped at the sudden action, his shoulder pressing gently against her nose and mouth. But her flustered attitude disappeared when she saw Sherlock pull away, holding her hand gun and walking over to the door.

"No! You're going to scare the guest!" Jo-Ann scolded, quickly taking the gun from him. She placed the gun in the back of her jeans and used her over-sized peach sweater to cover it. Putting a calming hand on Sherlock's chest, she told him to stay in the flat while she answered the door.

Jogging down the stairs, Jo-Ann tried to calm her elevated heartbeat. Her stomach kept buzzing with butterflies even when she reached the front door. Taking a deep breath, she put on a smile and opened the door to welcome the guest. However, there standing on the front step, was a very handsome man in his thirties. He had tanned skin and soft black hair that was pulled back into a short and thin ponytail. He was slightly muscular and wore a white dress shirt underneath his brown cargo jacket. He smiled at her, showing his bright white teeth and making the doctor's butterflies fail to disappear.

"Ciao, Jo-Ann!" he greeted cheerfully. Jo-Ann blinked a few times, staring at the handsome Italian man standing on her doorstep. Taking in his features and voice, she started to wonder if he was who she thought.

"M… Massimo?" she guessed. The man smiled with surprise and became ecstatic.

"Yes! You remember me?! From University?" Massimo said with enthusiasm.

"Oh my God! Massimo Agostini!" Jo-Ann fully remembered and threw her arms around him. He laughed and returned the hug. After breaking the embrace and inviting him inside, Jo-Ann started catching up.

"I-I can't believe you're here! You look great!" the doctor laughed.

"So do you! You haven't aged a day!" Massimo complimented, making Jo-Ann blush a bit.

"Thanks…" She said bashfully, "wait, how did you find me? I've moved from place to place since college." She asked. He let out an embarrassed laugh and ran his hand along his head.

"Well to be honest, I-uh have been looking for you from time to time." Massimo admitted. "Every few months for the sake of catching up… but then I found your blog. Which brings me to the main reason of this visit…" his smile disappeared and was replaced with a hopeless expression. Jo-Ann, seeing his face like that, got a feeling of sadness and sympathy. "I have a case for Mr. Holmes." He looked up from the ground and met his chocolate eyes with her blue ones. But something visibly clicked in his mind. "N-not that that's the only reason! I-I did want to see you-uh…" he stammered, making Jo-Ann giggle.

"I understand Massimo." She smiled. "But I must admit Sherlock can be…" she looked for the right words, when screeching violin music erupted from the upper floor. Jo-Ann winced while Massimo jumped a bit. "…like that." She finished and began guiding Massimo up the stairs.

Walking into the flat, Jo-Ann cleared her throat at an extremely loud level, grabbing the attention of the detective. Sherlock lowered his violin, turning around to the sight of a handsome stranger standing behind his doctor.

"Sherlock, this is Massimo, my old friend and your new client." Jo-Ann introduced with a large smile, and expression that read "Be nice." Sherlock snorted and put down his beloved instrument.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes, it's a great honor to meet you." Massimo smiled and held out his hand for a shake. Sherlock looked at his hand, then his face.

"Si mi ha interrotto, lascia immediatamente, imbecille." The detective replied in Italian. Jo-Ann did a double take at the unknown and flawless skill, but worried about what he just said without her filtration. Massimo took on a face of offence and Jo-Ann intervened, expecting the worst.

"What did he say?" she asked with annoyance and closed eyes.

"He said… 'You interrupted me, leave immediately, you fool'." Massimo quoted and looked at Jo-Ann in disbelief.

"Sherlock!" Jo-Ann shouted and stomped over to said man. Even being short, the doctor reached up and slapped Sherlock upside the back of his head. "Sorry Massimo, Sherlock has a tongue that says what it wants when I am not here to filter. Or when he… _apparently_ speaks ITALIAN!" Jo-Ann turned to him angrily, making Sherlock laugh a bit. But then he thought for a bit…

"_Old friend…" _he thought. Jo-Ann's previous words replayed in his head, _"'A friend of mine…'" _

"Massimo has a case for you, Sherlock." Jo-Ann smiled. Sherlock put on a face of annoyance before the doctor nudged him.

"Stai due sposi?*****" Massimo asked the detective, pointing at the two.

"Non ancora.*****" Sherlock replied, keeping his eyes on the Italian. Jo-Ann looked between the two men, wondering what they were saying. Massimo nodded slowly, noticing Jo-Ann's confused look.

"Oh sorry, Jo-Ann! I was just asking if you t-" he began, but was cut off by the detective.

"It's not important." Sherlock stated simply. Massimo looked surprised, but gained an expression of understanding… and humor. Jo-Ann kept looking between the two, greatly puzzled. Massimo chuckled a bit before telling the reason of his visit.

"Mr. Holmes, my brother, Deangelo, has been acting very suspicious for some time." Massimo's smiled faded, being replaced with the hopeless look he had before. "He does not speak about his life anymore. I don't know what is going on with his friends or school when he used to tell me all these things. He comes home sometimes with fresh scratches and bruises… and when I ask him about it, he tells me I am imagining things." Jo-Ann walked over to her old friend and put a comforting hand on his shoulder as he continued. "I've notice that many boys from the wrestling team are acting the same. I've asked my brother to go with him to his practices, but that is when he objects the most. I tried to go without his knowing, but his team meets in the school's basement for some reason and I cannot get in. This has been going on for months and I have run out of options. Mr. Holmes, please help me find out whats going on." Massimo begged, finally meeting the detective's eyes. "I've brought enough money to buy both you and Jo-Ann plane tickets. Will you come to Italy?" he finished. Jo-Ann looked with sympathy at her friend, then with equal pleading at Sherlock. Sherlock stared like he was thinking, considering the request… but decided it was probably just a case of teenage angst and lies.

"Boring. He most likely is going through teenage clique phases, I wouldn't worry." Sherlock said coldly and went to pick up his violin once again. Jo-Ann felt instant anger. While Sherlock was possibly right, seeing Massimo so upset and willing to even pay for them to fly to Italy made her want to help even if it was nothing. Massimo looked defeated and disappointed, encouraging Jo-Ann to interfere.

"Sherlock, it may be something small or it could be a very exciting case… but what is most important here is helping Massimo." She tried to reason. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began playing his violin, considerably better than a few minutes ago. Jo-Ann huffed with anger and looked back at Massimo. He stared at the detective, and then met her gaze with hopeless eyes. The doctor became determined and walked over to Sherlock. Picking up a magazine off the coffee table, she rolled it up tightly.

_Whack!_

Sherlock suddenly stopped his song and whirled around to look at the short woman who smacked him with a magazine. Jo-Ann wore an irritated and almost pouty face, which was somehow appealing to the detective. He stood up straight, but continued to be surprised.

"Massimo is clearly distraught about his brother and was willing to over one thousand miles for help! Now if you so wish for your handsome face to remain that way, Mr. Holmes, we are taking this case and we are going to Italy!" Jo-Ann shouted. Both men blinked a few times…

After packing up belongings to last ten days or so, Jo-Ann and Sherlock boarded the plane with Massimo the next morning. Sherlock suggested packing less since he expected the case to go by quickly, but Jo-Ann decided to make it half vacation and half work. The flight from London, England to Rome, Italy was safe and sound with minimum turbulence… save for the growing, murderous aura coming from a certain detective. Sherlock sat in the window seat in a row of three, Jo-Ann directly to his right with a sleeping Massimo at her side. Jo-Ann tried to focus on the magazine she was reading, ignoring the writhing and completely bored detective beside her. Sherlock glared at her, as he had been doing for the past hour, with his arms crossed. The doctor cleared her throat and continued to read. After a few more minutes, Sherlock broke the silence.

"…So you think I'm handsome?" he asked with a more relaxed look than before.

"…What?" Jo-Ann replied glancing between him and the magazine.

"Earlier you said 'your handsome face'. You were calling me attractive." Sherlock stated more clearly. The doctor remained calm and kept reading.

"Been thinking about that since yesterday, have you?" she teased, keeping her eyes on the glossy paper.

"I've been bored. You called me of all people handsome." Sherlock stated once again. Jo-Ann tried to speak quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping Italian next to her.

"I didn't mean it as… I was just poking some fun at you."

"That's not my definition of fun."

"No, your definition of fun is a nice murder." Jo-Ann smiled over at him before reading again.

"Don't change the subject, you find me attractive." Sherlock stated yet again.

"I rue the day I got on a plane with you." Jo-Ann muttered. "You're the one who changed the subject."

"Admit it, you called me handsome." Sherlock spoke quietly and in monotone.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"No. You called _me_ handsome. Admit it."

"Sherlock, I'm not going to say that." Jo-Ann refused.

"Just confess, come on." The detective continued.

"I'm not going to-"

"Sayyyyyy you think I'm handsome." Sherlock interrupted.

"Sherlock I'm not-"

"Say it."

The next few seconds were a scramble of sentence fragments from both parties over-lapping each other. Jo-Ann tried to keep the detective quiet as he got progressively louder.

"Alright, Alright!" Jo-Ann said in a loud whisper. "I… find you… attractive, Sherlock." She blushed, forgetting where she left off when reading and staring at a single spot on the magazine page. "Anyone in their right mind would agree." She added quietly. Sherlock hid his surprise and remained silent for a few moments. Happiness grew in him that confused his senses… to be honest; he just wanted to start an argument to keep his brain from rotting. But actually hearing his doctor say such a thing was… thrilling.

"… Thank you." Sherlock responded.

The flight came to an end, giving Jo-Ann the signal to wake up their guide. Stamping passports and carrying luggage, Sherlock and Jo-Ann followed Massimo through the airport and out the main doors.

"Welcome, my friends… to Italy!" Massimo announced.

**So I've decide to write my own case :D Please don't lose interest! I'll try to make it at least worth reading ^_^' I'm also planning to put a little jealousy battle between Massimo and Sherlock hehehehe**

***Massimo asked "are you two married?" to which Sherlock replied… "Not yet." **


	23. Chapter 23

**So... Remember that update every Wednesday thing? Yeah that's not gonna happen :P I'll try to update every Monday and Friday? I don't know, I'm horrible with schedules :] So this chapter is over 4,000 words... I don't know what got into me but I couldn't stop writing. Half this chapter is a dream of Jo-Ann's because I need more time to figure out my own case hehe so enjoy and review! **

Chapter 23

"It's so beautiful!" Jo-Ann cooed, standing in the middle of Piazza Novena, letting the crowd pass by normally as she took in the view. Everything around her intrigued her senses, no matter how simple it seemed to others, it was still different. "I can see why you moved back here after college." Jo-Ann giggled, turning to her old friend Massimo. He smiled at her, stepping closer while the soft breeze blew around them.

"I left a piece of my heart in London when I moved back home…" Massimo spoke with sincerity, moving a hair away from the doctor's face. "But luckily I was able to bring that piece _to_ my home." He whispered just loud enough for Jo-Ann to hear through the noise of the moving city. While moving Jo-Ann's hair behind her ear, Massimo gently slipped a flower there as well, a bright red rose. She blushed a red that almost matched the flower in her hair and smiled brightly. Massimo's comment was confusing but sweet… Jo-Ann was the piece of his heart he left in London? Massimo blushed as well, and opened his mouth to speak his feelings, reaching for her hand…

_COUGH!_

Jo-Ann and Massimo looked in the direction of the sudden interruption, remembering that Sherlock was with them the whole time. The detective stood with his hands in his pockets, an expression of complete boredom and annoyance present on his face. He darted his eyes between Massimo and the doctor… feeling the urge to prove to the Italian that Jo-Ann was _his _doctor. Jo-Ann blushed even more and averted her gaze from her detective, feeling a bit guilty for not rejecting Massimo's actions right away.

"S-So! Where will be staying tonight then? Sherlock?" Jo-Ann attempted to change the subject.

"You two are always welcome at my villa." Massimo smiled. Sherlock rolled his eyes while Jo-Ann looked delighted. However the detective was not about to let such a thing happen.

"Unnecessary." Sherlock intervened, catching the attention of the other two. "We appreciate you keeping our luggage at your villa for now, but Jo-Ann and I will get a hotel room of some kind and meet up with you on a daily basis Mr. Agostini." He said in a cold tone and didn't bother making eye contact.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, but most hotels in your price range only accept married couples." Massimo explained. Jo-Ann felt a sudden heartbeat increase at the comment. Knowing Sherlock and his acting skills, anything could go drastically wrong.

"We'll get by." Sherlock replied, faking a quick smile. "Let's go get our things and find a place to stay, Jo-Ann." he said, suddenly taking Jo-Ann's hand and walking in the direction they came. The doctor blushed furiously at the touch and stumbled behind her detective. Massimo was surprised and took a moment to follow them. Holding onto Jo-Ann's hand tightly, Sherlock muttered loud enough for her to hear.

"That flower doesn't suit you." He said with added disgust.

Sherlock and Jo-Ann gathered their luggage and made their way to a nearby bed and breakfast Massimo recommended. Although Jo-Ann expected Sherlock to be a grump from the moment they got on the plane, she didn't expect him to be so… seriously angry. She had seen him upset, bored, annoyed, and unnecessarily cold. But for the past few hours, he was angry in a way that almost scared her. Jo-Ann quietly followed him out of the bus and dragged her suitcase against the stone sidewalk. They found the bed and breakfast that was a small cottage in the heart of Rome. Sherlock opened the door for Jo-Ann, and for a second, she thought she saw him smile. Confused, the doctor shrugged it off and entered the cottage. There was a large desk adjacent to the door, behind it, the cottage owner sat while reading a small novel. The old woman looked up at the two and smiled, getting up from her seat to help them.

"Benvenuto! Would you like a room?" The woman asked in a thick accent. Jo-Ann was going to respond, since she usually handled social confrontations, but this time Sherlock took the lead.

"Si... It's our honeymoon." Sherlock said cheerfully with an goofy laugh at the end. If Jo-Ann had been drinking anything at the time, she would have spit it out rapidly. But seeing Sherlock so obviously out of character, the doctor did her best to play along and smile. The woman smiled and nodded with a knowing look.

"Then you like the Honeymoon suite? Thick walls for newlywed nights, si?" she asked with a small laugh. Now Sherlock was an amazing actor, being able to cry on cue and switch personalites in the blink of an eye when he need to. But at that remark, nothing in his physical abilities could possibly hold back bright red color flushing across his cheeks. He glanced over at Jo-Ann, who looked like she was about to faint.

"It's a bit embarrassing, but yes." Sherlock resumed character and laughed along with his words.

"No need to be embarressed! Come on, let's see a kiss!" The old woman said with a smile.

"_...Huh?!"_

Jo-Ann's thoughts began yelling at her. _"A kiss?! A KISS?! Oh hell no! Not for a first kiss, not like this!" _She inwardly panicked, while keeping a relaxed smile in reality. Before she could even respond, even show any kind of reluctance, Sherlock already had her face in his hands... and was pulling her closer. _"WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELLLLL?!" _Jo-Ann's thoughts screamed in the amount of time it took for Sherlock's lips to press next to hers. The doctor froze, trying to prcess what was going on. Sherlock's cool lips were gently placed only a centimeter from her own. His hand covered the almost-kiss, making it appear like it was real to the woman behind the counter. Jo-Ann, lost and swiming in embarrassment and confusion, found herself moving her lips... reaching to Sherlock's cheek that was so close. But before contact could be made on her part, the detective pulled away and was still in character, smiling like a complete moron. The old woman clapped and giggled at the same time.

"Much better!" she cheered, "then what name for the room?" she moved on, talking to Sherlock and leaving the silent doctor to be silent. Jo-Ann felt a bit dizzy while Sherlock answered.

"Uh Sherlock and Jo-Ann Holmes." He said casually. Now Jo-Ann truely felt dizzy. Hearing Sherlock say "Jo-Ann Holmes" was completey nerve racking, although she did like the sound of it. The old woman repeated the names quietly and wrote them down in a register book. Sherlock payed the down payment in Euro.

"Here is your room key, Mr. Holmes." The woman said while holding out the key. Sherlock took it graciously and reached for his suitcase. Jo-Ann realized they were moving and went to pick up her bags.

"I've got it, sweetie." Sherlock said to Jo-Ann, bending down and taking the handle from her. Jo-Ann felt her heart skip a beat and played along.

"Ah! Thank you darling!" the doctor said in the calmest voice she could and quickly pecked his cheek. Sherlock blushed as he clumsily began carrying the luggage up the steps.

"psst! Mrs. Holmes!" the woman whispered. Jo-Ann was going to have to get used to being called that. The woman took a small wooden sign out from under the desk. "Buona fortuna! Good luck." She whispered and handed the sign to Jo-Ann. The doctor hesitantly took it and read the painted words. The words were Italian, so Jo-Ann couldn't really read it and decided to ask Sherlock about it. A small fumbling sound came from the stairs, causing both women to look in that direction.

"It's ok, I got it!" Sherlock called in his fake voice from the top of the stair case. Jo-Ann giggled and said thank you to the old woman, taking her leave to go upstairs. They found the room and unlocked the door, expecting what was inside. A large bed lied against the left wall, a flowing canopy covering it and a bouquet of roses on the nightstand beside it. The room was decorated in Italian styled wood furniture, giving a comforting and soothing atmotshpere. Jo-Ann fully entered, stepping up on the elevated floor then when she first walked in. Sherlock followed and set down the luggage in the corner of the room.

"Oh yeah! What does this sign say, Sherlock?" Jo-Ann broke the silence, facing the small wooden board up to him. The detective glanced at it.

"It's a do-not-disturb sign." Sherlock answered in his normal voice and walked around her to close the door.

"O-oh really?" Jo-Ann asked with a red face, staring at the sign herself. "S-So why did you pick the honeymoon suite? Isn't it more expensive?"

"Not by much," Sherlock answered, "it'll help our story be more convincing and people tend to bother honeymooners less." He spoke with his normal voice, much to Jo-Ann's releif. While she thought the character he played was funny, the original Sherlock was far more appealing. The anger she witnessed earlier seemed faded, also to her relief. But her relaxed nature vanished as she remebered the almost-kiss from ealier. Sherlock's lips were so close, so close to making contact with her own. Jo-Ann almost wished that in that moment, she would have moved her lips over a bit to make it real. She shook her head at the thought and walked over to her suitcase, ready to settle into thier temporary accomidations.

"Mmm… hm?" Jo-Ann stirred in her sleep, although the cause of the nap was not pleasant. As far as she could remember, she was in Cotswold looking for a jewel thief, then turned a corner and… Whoops! She fell down a hole. It didn't seem like such a deep hole at first, but before she knew it she hit her head and went unconscious. Which explained the growing pain in the back of her head. "Owww…" She groaned, sitting up from her lying position. But taking a look at her surroundings, it didn't look like a hole at all. Jo-Ann _had_ to be dreaming.

The ground beneath her was old crimson tiles that were barley holding together. She appeared to be in a hallway, with the walls being wallpaper that resembled black lace against a tan background. Also along the walls were dozens of doors, each looking different than the last. Jo-Ann raised an eyebrow and wondered how she got there; after all, didn't she fall through a hole? What was she doing in a hallway? She shrugged and stood up, brushing off her red jumper and blue jeans. Looking down each direction of the narrow hallway, she chose to go right first. Jo-Ann decided to check all the doors until she found one that was unlocked. But one after another, the doors didn't budge.

"_No… No… No!... No!... NO!" _Jo-Ann thought in frustration. None of them were cooperating. She wondered why she was even doing this if it was a dream… but what would a dream be if she just sat in an old hallway? Finally reaching one of the two ends of the hallway, Jo-Ann sighed as she ran out of doors to try. There was always the other end, but she was already discouraged. Against her inner objections, Jo-Ann ran to the other end of the hallway, trying more doors. But once again, no luck. "Ug! What is wrong with this place?!" Jo-Ann grunted in frustration. Ready to give up, she turned to go back to where she started. But taking one more glance at the wall, she noticed a very small door close to the ground. Getting on her knees and deciding she was out of options, she tried the tiny door handle the two fingers. As fate would have it, _that _was the door that was unlocked. "Great…" Jo-Ann muttered to herself. She knew she wouldn't fit, not with her hips. She sat up and sighed, wondering if she could break the wall around it. _Clang! _Jo-Ann heard a quiet noise behind her and turned to look.

There behind her was a glass table she was most positive was not there before. Slowly getting up, she did a once over at her surroundings. No one was there, nothing out of place. Only the table was there and it seemed to appear from nowhere. On the mystery table were two items. A bottle filled with dark liquid and plugged with a cork and tag, and a bronze key. Jo-Ann picked up the bottle and read the tag. It said "Drink me" in magnificent cursive writing. The doctor was skeptical, being a doctor. But since this was just a dream anyway, Jo-Ann unplugged the cork and took a small sip. "Uhg…" she gurgled. It tasted like concentrated air freshener and rotten grapes. As disgusting as that was, she knew what that tasted like… Sherlock and his crazy experiments… Jo-Ann started coughing as she felt funny. Suddenly, the room started to get bigger. The walls were growing taller and the ceiling was getting farther and farther away. But when she felt her clothes getting loose at a dangerous rate, she realized that _she _was _shrinking_! In a panic, Jo-Ann tried holding her clothes to her body, but she was getting far too small. Soon she was drowning in her own garments as she finally stopped shrinking. Climbing out of the red jumper, Jo-Ann held the sleeve to her now naked and very small body. Finding a bit of loose thread, an idea struck her. She pulled the thread which was like rope now, and detached the edge of the sleeve from the rest of the sweater. A few ungraceful attempts later, she successfully tied the piece of knit cloth around her tiny body. Although it was bulky and troublesome, she couldn't go around naked!

Now small enough to fit through the door, Jo-Ann happily ran to it. But it was now closed, and as completely frustrating as it was, locked. Jo-Ann thought steam would come out of her ears. She desperately looked around for a key, and then realized it. It was the key on the table… the table that was now like a skyscraper. She let out an exasperated sigh and stomped over to the table. The first attempts of climbing failed miserably, due to the surface being too slippery or the complications of her attire. Putting her hands on her hips, Jo-Ann looked around again. Eyes landing on her jeans, she remembered something. In her pocket was a pair of ear bud headphones. Jo-Ann ran over and fished through the large pocket. Clumsily pulling the headphones out, she carried them over to the table. Taking the two buds, she looked up at the table and wondered if she would make it. Moving down the cord, she began twirling around in circles, swinging the headphones with her. The left the ground and hovered with the momentum. With great effort, Jo-Ann yelled and threw the buds into the air, resulting in her landing on her bum. She shook her head from dizziness and looked up to the table. The toss was a success, and Jo-Ann smiled in relief. The ear buds served as grappling hooks and securely held onto the glass. The doctor tugged on the cord to see if it was safe, then began climbing. It felt like an eternity before she reached the top, but she made it. Ungracefully flopping onto the glass, she adjusted her outfit and went to grab the key. Putting her arm through the ring of the key, she excitedly slid back down the pair of headphones. Going down was actually fun. "Wooo!" she cheered as she neared the bottom. Deciding to leave the headphones there, since her clothes were there as well, Jo-Ann jogged over to the door. The key was large for such a small door, making a simple process into a great difficulty. But victory still reigned as the door creaked open. Jo-Ann sighed in relief and easily walked through the door. The sight outside, however, was anything other than what she was expecting.

Apparently, Jo-Ann was in a garden. Due to her current size, the roses, tulips, and daisies were as large as her! They were so extravagant and gorgeous, Jo-Ann almost wanted to stay there. But mere curiosity kept her going. She kept walking until she reached a ginormous twisted gate. It was open, but just because the doors were curled back, although it appeared to be designed that way. Jo-Ann squeezed through the gate and kept moving, but froze in place when she spotted something relatively familiar.

"S…Stamford?" She squinted at the sight. It looked like Mike Stamford, dressed in a waist coat a pocket watch. The only thing that definitely proved all this to be a dream (or nightmare) was the white bunny ears and tails that were in there respective places on her old friend. Jo-Ann blinked a few times at this, then rubbed her eyes and blinked again. Yes, she was definitely dreaming. Stamford took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, but then panicked at the time.

"Oh crap, I'm late!" He shouted as he took off. Jo-Ann panicked as well as she tried to follow him. She stumbled over some pebbles and shouted as loud as she could.

"Stamford! Mike! Help me!" She screamed, adjusting her makeshift outfit as she ran. Luckily, Stamford heard her cries and turned around. "Down here!" Jo-Ann waved her arms. Stamford spotted her and kneeled down.

"Hey there, cutie! How did you know my name?" he said sweetly. This confused the doctor, he didn't remember her?

"It's me, Jo-Ann! Jo-Ann Watson?"

"Can't say I've heard of you, but do you need a lift somewhere?" Stamford replied, bunny ears twitching a little. Jo-Ann peeled her eyes of the strange anthro accessories and continued to speak.

"Well I used to be tall like you, but I drank a potion and shrunk! Do you know anyone who can make me turn back to normal?" she asked. It was a strange question, but this was a strange place. Stamford smiled and held out his hand to her. Jo-Ann climbed on and held onto his thumb.

"I just happen to be on my way to meet such a person. He is a brilliant man that can change you back, but I must warn you…" Stamford spoke as he carried her into a dark forest. "He is a bit… mad." He looked for the right word. Jo-Ann raised an eyebrow.

"Like… angry?" she questioned.

"Let's say… unstable."

Stamford and pocket-sized Jo-Ann came upon a clearing, at which a long banquet table was set up. However the only thing set on the table were supplies for evening tea. At the very end of the table was a large throne-like chair, made of gaudy miss-matched fabric, so tall it cast a shadow on the figure sitting in it. There was someone else at the table, and Jo-Ann nearly gasped at who it was. It was Molly Hooper! The pathologist at St. Barts. However she was dressed in a cute pink dress with long sleeves that covered half her hands. It had darker pink swirls decorating from the waist below. But upon her reddish brown hair (pulled into a low side ponytail) were two brown mouse ears. She probably had a mouse tail to match. Molly spotted Stamford and waved him over. Molly took a seat and patted the one next to her, signaling for Stamford to sit there. He smiled and waved, walking over to take the seat.

"Hello Molly! I have a guest today." He greeted, putting his hand down to the table and letting Jo-Ann climb off. She stood on the table and brushed herself off. Molly stared in amazement.

"Awww! She is so precious!" she cooed at Stamford before turning to Jo-Ann. "How did you ever become that small?" Molly spoke with her usual gentle voice, going well with her mousey personality and now appearance.

"I drank a potion and it just happened." Jo-Ann explained as simply as possible.

"…Potion…" A deep voice interrupted. Jo-Ann's eyes shot open at the sound. No one else could ever replicate that voice… it had to be him. All three turned to look at the large, over-powering chair at the end of the table. The person sitting there was leaning back, putting his long legs crossed on the table surface. He wore black pants slightly flaring at the bottom, grey stripes lining the fabric. His long black shoes were sitting beside his tea cup, and his arms were crossed. His tall black top hat's brim shaded his face. "… Who took a potion?" he asked, tilting his head up to look at the three. Jo-Ann felt mixed relief, excitement, and confusion as it was finally confirmed to be him.

"Sherlock!" Jo-Ann beamed, slightly surprising the rest of the party. Sherlock looked up more, exposing his face from the shadow, as well as his dark green tail coat, black waistcoat, and purple dress shirt. Jo-Ann sighed and pinched her nose. Even in a dream she couldn't escape that sexy purple shirt. She shook her head and made her way to the end of the table, stepping over sugar cubes and avoiding tea cups.

"How did you know his name?" Molly asked in a flustered manner.

"My reputation precedes me." Sherlock smiled as he lowered his legs off the table and leaned forward.

"_Arrogant as ever."_ Jo-Ann giggled to herself. She hopped over a spoon and landed in front of her detective. She smiled up at him, happy to see those amazing blue eyes. Sherlock leaned on his elbows, holding his face in one hand.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" he asked. Jo-Ann's face fell. Sherlock… didn't remember her either? It was starting from scratch all over again. She sighed.

"Jo-Ann Watson…" she said with exhaustion. Sherlock let out a small chuckle, making her heart flutter a bit.

"How curious…" he whispered, tapping her tiny head with his other hand's index finger. Jo-Ann blushed and crossed her arms, adjusting her outfit once more. "Did you like my little puzzle?" he asked with a smile.

"That was you?! The whole hallway thing?!" Jo-Ann exclaimed in shock. Sherlock chuckled and sat back, pulling something out from under the table.

"How tall are you normally?" he asked, putting a small box in front of the miniature doctor.

"Five feet, eight inches." Jo-Ann lied. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as Stamford and Molly sat in silence. "Fine… Five feet, five inches." Jo-Ann admitted. Sherlock smiled and opened the box. Inside was a small carrot cake, with brown icing swirled into the words "eat me".

"Just one bite. That should allow you to return to your normal size." Sherlock said in his normal voice, the brilliant sound the doctor loved. Jo-Ann nodded and stepped closer, taking a bit of the cake in her tiny hand.

"Could you… turn around?" Jo-Ann asked. Sherlock looked a bit surprised.

"Why? Transformation is a beautiful thing." He said as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Jo-Ann blushed a bit harder.

"But… my clothes won't transform with me…" she mumbled. Sherlock's eyes widened as he made a face of embarrassment. He quickly leaned back and averted his eyes.

"Mike, come with me. Molly, do you have a dress she can wear?" Sherlock quickly began giving orders.

"I-I think so." Molly squeaked, going well with her mouse ears. Stamford obeyed and followed Sherlock into the nearby woods. Jo-Ann watched them leave and then realized they were giving her privacy. The doctor turned to Molly. "Don't worry; I've got the perfect dress for you. Go ahead." She said sweetly. Jo-Ann smiled in reassurance and took a bite from the cake in her hands. It tasted so sweet! Thankfully getting rid of the horrible after-taste of that potion. Before she began growing she quickly untied her piece of sweater.

Back in the woods and behind a tree, Sherlock stood with arms crossed as Stamford began peaking around the bark. The detective-Er… Hatter- grabbed his bunny ears and pulled him back.

Jo-Ann reached full size as she tried to cover herself, now sitting on the table. Molly smiled as she became motherly and helped the doctor dress. Jo-Ann had to admit the outfit didn't really suit her, but there probably weren't any jumpers in this dream.

"Boys! You can come back now!" Molly called from the banquet table. Sherlock and Stamford made their way back and were shocked at Jo-Ann's appearance. She stood looking at her own dress, which was a sky blue color with a layered skirt and puffed sleeves, pulled together with a white apron, knee-high stockings, and rose in her hair. Jo-Ann put a finger to her mouth.

"Is this really alright?" she asked Molly who nodded excitedly. But when the doctor turned to the two men, both stared with completely dumb looks on their faces… an expression she expected from Stamford but not Sherlock. Stamford quickly shut his jaw and blushed with a smile.

"Y-Yeah, Ms. Watson! It looks great on you!" he said with a laugh while Sherlock kept staring. Jo-Ann noticed his eyes were grey and rolled her own eyes, letting him deduce her. Sherlock kept staring until his eyes landed on the rose in her hair.

"That flower doesn't suit you." He said coldly. Jo-Ann huffed and crossed her arms, sticking her nose in the air.

"I know it doesn't! Why? Are roses too pretty for a drab woman like me?!" she asked with closed eyes. Sherlock was surprised at her reaction, but regained his calm demeanor.

"I'd say it's vice versa." He commented, walking around the table to be at her side. She watched him move, her arms slowly lowering. "Roses are too common, used by so many people as a symbol of love." He spoke rapidly. "No, the rose doesn't suit you… this does." Sherlock whispered as he held something in front of her face. Jo-Ann blinked a few times, eyes focusing on the flower he held.

It was an extremely bright yellow flower, with many large petals that resembled a daisy. However, on each petal, was a reddish brown stripe, almost like a brush stroke. The stripes were darkest at the core of the flower, and then slowly faded as they reached the tips of the petals. It looked like it was hand painted, glowing and beautiful.

Jo-Ann slowly took it in her delicate hand as Sherlock explained. His words were so clear, not sounding like a dream at all.

"It's a Gazania flower, or commonly known as the 'treasure flower'. It lives in hot and dry areas yet survives due to a completely unique drought prevention system. It sprouts in poor soil and is still more than beautiful enough to attract butterflies, bees, and creatures alike." Sherlock spoke as he moved around the doctor, letting the world around them fade. He snuck a hand on her shoulder and talked from behind her, bringing his mouth to her ear as she stared at the flower. "Durable, blooming in unstable climates, and stunning." He whispered. "Now _there_ is a flower that suits you." Sherlock stretched a little further and gently kissed her cheek.

"My beautiful treasure…"

His voice was quiet but echoed as Jo-Ann's eyes widened in surprise and… happiness. The dream began swirling, its place of destination being Jo-Ann herself. All faded to black as she became tired and collapsed on the ground.

The doctor's eyes fluttered open as she woke. She glanced around the room, recognizing it as the honeymoon suite. She panicked and shot up, smoothing back her hair. The place on the bed to her left, or where Sherlock should have been, was vacant. She glanced around when she heard the shower running. Jo-Ann sighed in relief and started to settle back down, when she noticed the vase on the bedside table to her right. A vase once filled with a dozen roses, was now filled with a bouquet of Gazania flowers.


	24. Chapter 24

**Sigh... I missed the deadline again... sorry :( I got distracted by school and other pointless things hehe So translations in this chapter are said right after the Italian. Mind that Jo-Ann can't tell what they are saying, but Sherlock can ;) ****Please Enjoy and Review!  
**

Chapter 24

Sherlock and Jo-Ann left for Massimo's villa the next morning, although the doctor had the most trouble sleeping. After all there was only one bed in the _honeymoon_ suite. Plus the old woman there kept winking at her and calling her "Mrs. Holmes"... and now she was wondering if the end of her dream the night before actually happened... it was going to be a very long trip.

Massimo's villa was incredibly gorgeous, located in the countryside and surrounded by vineyards. The Agostini family, however, did not make wine, but valuable antiques. As Jo-Ann and Sherlock neared the house from the nearby road, the doctor noticed Sherlock's mood become more and more agitated. Jo-Ann felt a strange impulse to remain as quiet as possible, which she hated, but couldn't help it. They approached the door and Sherlock stopped a few feet away, letting Jo-Ann be the one to knock. The doctor nodded and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for the door to creak open, but the person standing there was not what either of the guests was expecting.

"Chi sei?! Che ci fai qui?!(who are you?! What are you doing here?!)" An elderly and loud voice erupted from behind the door, making Jo-Ann jump back. An old short woman came out of the house, hunched over with a tan dress and red bandana around her long grey hair. "Sei tu la donna che Massimo continua a parlare?!(Are you the woman Massimio keeps talking about?!)" the woman yelled at Jo-Ann specifically, pointing her disapproving finger at her. Jo-Ann stepped back as the woman moved closer.

"Non c'e modo che io lascilo sposare Massimo!(There is no way I will let you marry Massimo!)" Jo-Ann stepped back so far she bumped into Sherlock, and without thinking, grabbed his arm out of fear. She tried to respond to the shouting woman but she couldn't get a word, Italian or English, in. "Sei anche un buon governante?! Non mi hai risposto, che ci fai qui?!(Are you good housekeeper?! You did not answer me, what are you doing here?!)"

"Nonna? Nonna!(grandma)" Massimo called from the house, quickly running out wearing a black long-sleeve black shirt and apron. "Cosa stai facendo?(what are you doing?)" he asked gently as he put an arm around his mother. He looked up at Sherlock and thought he was the only guest. "Ah! Mr. Holmes, Welcome! Where is Jo-Ann?" he asked.

"Here…" Jo-Ann squeaked, peaking around from behind the tall detective, looking a bit frightened. Massimo gave a hearty chuckle and welcomed them inside.

"Sorry about my grandmother…" Massimo apologized as he gave Sherlock and Jo-Ann their coffee. "She can be uh… over protective sometimes." He laughed. Sherlock remained silent as Jo-Ann nodded and laughed as well. "I asked you to come here to meet my little brother, he should be here soon."

"Where's his room?" Sherlock said suddenly. Such a request was not unusual to the doctor, but Massimo looked confused.

"Uh… upstairs, second door on the left…" Massimo hesitantly replied. Sherlock set down the coffee he didn't take one sip of and left for upstairs immediately. Jo-Ann sighed as he left and silently apologized to Massimo.

Upstairs, Sherlock slowly climbed the steps, taking in all the possible details.

_Worn wood on railing, suggests heavy pressure applied on a regular basis. _He lightly jumped in place on the steps, and then pressured his foot in certain areas. _Weak spots near railings, alternating pattern with each step. Normal for an old house but pitch and tone suggest recent cause. First spot on the right side of the step, right legged. The weak areas, worn handrail, means a tired party using this staircase constantly in a slow and tattered fashion. _Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, peaking around the corner and proceeding with attention. He ran his hand along the wallpaper, dragging his pale fingers across. _Small blood stain, barely noticeable so it happened long ago or blood was passed through a barrier or cloth. _Sherlock noted as he noticed the faint red smear. He opened the door to Deangelo's bedroom, sniffing the air as he did. _Antibiotics, sweat, soothing candles. _Sherlock noted as he fully entered. He peaked around the room, finding things that were common for a teenage boy. But under the bed, he pulled out a metal box. Opening it, its contents were that of a first aid kit. Sherlock lifted the disinfectant bottle, twirling it around in the light. It didn't have much liquid left in it, but there was a significant amount of bandage wrap left in the box. Other bandages were scarce. _Items used to treat clean wounds. Less antibiotic, more wrap, wounds were not bleeding to an extent of excessive bandage but required disinfectant. Wounds previously treated, however poorly. Re-treated when arriving home. Fewer small bandages so that means many small cuts. _Sherlock concluded and closed the box. He stepped towards one of the candles and picked it up to examine it. _Lit nightly. Used not only to eliminate odor but to sooth the body after a strenuous event. Multiple candles means desperate to relax. _Sherlock sniffed and set down the candle. He started up the laptop on the desk, which didn't take long to hack. He browsed through internet history, or the lack there of. Deciding he gathered enough data Sherlock exited the room and made his way back downstairs. But upon entering the living room, he grumbled to himself.

Massimo moved from his seat and was now sitting next to Jo-Ann on the sofa. He was holding her hand, smiling. He told her something, and the words Sherlock read on his lips frightened him.

"I do love you Jo-Ann… believe me." Massimo told the doctor. Jo-Ann blushed again and looked down at her lap. For the last few minutes, Massimo had been telling her he loved her, truly… but Jo-Ann didn't want to believe it at first with how little they had seen each other, even though they were good friends in college.

"I believe you." Jo-Ann replied, and withdrew her hand from his. "But I… I love someone already…" she replied quietly. Massimo smiled a sad smile and looked down at his lap.

"I know…" Massimo whispered. He would have said more if not for the sound of a small table being knocked over. The two leaned forward to look around the corner, seeing Sherlock catch a vase in the nick of time.

"F*** that was close." The detective cursed while holding the vase in an almost ninja-like pose. He normally wouldn't have cursed, but the frustration of once again not hearing who his doctor loved made his mouth talk on its own for a moment. Jo-Ann's jaw dropped. It was the first time she had ever heard that word come from his mouth… and it was surprisingly attractive. She blinked a few times as she blushed and Massimo quickly helped the detective. "Sorry 'bout that." Sherlock apologized.

"All is well, nothing is broken!" Massimo smiled and picked up the table, allowing Sherlock to replace the vase. Jo-Ann gently shook her head and regained her sanity. The front door opened without warning, however the guest was expected. Deangelo stepped in, looking worn out and tired. Sherlock immediately focused his attention on the teenage boy. He had short black hair that was rough and messy, like it was cut that way. He wore a green hooded jacket and black undershirt with faded blue jeans and backpack over one shoulder. His eyes had bags underneath them and he had several bruises in the process of healing.

"Deangelo! Benvenuti a casa!(Welcome home)" Massimo greeted and walked over to his little brother. But getting closer only made him realize Deangelo's state. "Che cosa ti e successo? Hai preso in una rissa?(what happened to you? Did you get in a fight?)" Massimo asked with concern.

"No. Non e importante.(No. It's not important)" Deangelo replied quietly. Sherlock cleared his throat catching the attention of everyone in the room.

"Buon pomeriggio. Il mio nome è Sherlock Holmes, un amico di Massimo di.(Good afternoon. My name is Sherlock Holmes, a friend of Massimo's)" He said to Deangelo. Sherlock approached the boy, but tripped on the leg of a table. Deangelo stepped back as he half-caught the detective.

_Right legged. Small impulse to strike at the close quarters… odd. _Sherlock thought. "Mi dispaice.(sorry)" He apologized. Deangelo nodded and straightened up. Sherlock noticed the small hole in his forearm. _Multiple shots, perhaps daily but not cleaned up with a bandage. _

"Vi prego di scusarmi.(Please excuse me)" Deangelo said quietly as he walked around his brother and the detective, heading towards the stairs. _Fidgety, rubbing thumbs, tight fists, eye aversion, quiet voice. Hiding something. _The three adults were left in silence.

Deangelo set down his backpack on the ground with a thud and threw himself on the bed. The man he just met was certainly not from around the area, so how could he be friends with Massimo? With a huff, Deangelo sat up and decided to find out just who this man was. He grabbed his laptop off his desk and started it up. With slight hesitation, he typed into the internet search bar.

_Sherlock Holmes_

"So… did you learn anything about Deangelo?" Jo-Ann asked her detective, standing up from the couch as Massimo sat down in the love seat across from it.

"Not much…" Sherlock smiled. "Only that he gets fresh wounds on a daily basis, he does not get treated by the school nurse because the beatings go unnoticed so he self applies his treatments. He spends an excessive time out of the house, takes daily, rather unsafe, shots and has paranoia of his actions being discovered. Mr. Agostini, you're little brother is a trained killer." Sherlock concluded. Massimo's face became pale as he looked completely shocked.

"How the hell do you figure that?!" Jo-Ann shouted, then noticed her volume.

"Didn't you see the way he acted when I pretended to fall towards him? He immediately assumed I was going to hurt him and almost took action. I think he knows how to kill because he has cuts on his knuckles from fighting back, because he has the history of barbaric sports on what was left of his internet search history, because he self-treats his wounds so he doesn't have to explain to anyone, and because he is listening right now." Sherlock pointed to the staircase. "Aren't you, Deangelo?" he asked calmly as Jo-Ann and Massimo walked over to where they could see. Deangelo stood at the top of the stair case, peaking from behind the wall. He looked angry and sad, but mostly defiant.

"Deangelo… is any of this true?" Massimo asked in disbelief. Deangelo stayed silent for a moment before staring directly at Sherlock.

"I am not a killer." He said in English with a small crack in his voice. "I am a fighter." Deangelo then took off towards his room and slammed the door shut. Sherlock couldn't even muster a syllable before Massimo held his throat against the wall.

"WHY WOULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING?! ACCUSING MY OWN BROTHER OF BEING A KILLER! VORREI CONCLUDERE LA TUA VITA SE TU DICI DI NUOVO UNA COSA DEL GENERE!(I will end your life if you say such a thing again)" Massimo yelled at the detective he had pinned to the wall. Jo-Ann immediately jumped to action and pulled on Massimo's shoulder to get him away.

"Massimo! Get OFF!" She shouted as she freed her detective by peeling her friend away. "Sherlock just says what he likes and doesn't think of how it will affect people!" she tried to explain as she firmly held Massimo by his shoulders. "Frankly he is a real numb-skull when it comes to social delicacy." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. "Say nothing." Jo-Ann pointed to him without even looking in his direction. "Please forgive him?" Jo-Ann pleaded. Massimo looked at her and back at Sherlock, still furious. The doctor got an idea and fished her English-Italian dictionary out of her pant pocket. "Eh… Si prega di ... perdonare ... lui?" Jo-Ann struggled to ask for forgiveness in Italian. Massimo's rage melted a bit as he smiled at her horrible pronunciation.

"...Okay..." Massimo whispered as he turned away from both of them, running his hands along his head. Jo-Ann sighed with relief as Sherlock did the same.

"Thank you." Sherlock said to his doctor, acknowledging his mistake.

"That's what I'm here for." Jo-Ann sighed again and smiled.

Deciding to let the tension ease for the rest on the day, Sherlock and Jo-Ann went sightseeing in one of the world's most beautiful cities… although said detective was only interested in the catacombs.

After wondering in the catacombs for hours, Jo-Ann and Sherlock returned to the bed and breakfast, the doctor being exhausted from the adventure. As they passed the front desk, the old woman smiled and waved at the "happy couple". Jo-Ann lifted a lazy hand and smiled a weak smile as she began climbing the stairs, Sherlock already in their room. Jo-Ann dragged her feet into the honeymoon suite and closed the door behind her. Sherlock sat on the far side of the bed, taking his shoes and suit jacket off. Jo-Ann didn't care anymore and trudged over to the bed. With a lack of effort and concern, she flopped down on the mattress still wearing her coat and letting her feet hang off the side. Her head laid face down on the blankets, next to her detective. Sherlock looked up from his shoe, hearing the sound. He looked down to his side, where his doctor appeared almost asleep.

"…Are you alright?" He asked with a smile.

"Mmf…" Jo-Ann muttered while still face down on the bed. "Hours… hours of wondering underground…" she said in a muffled voice.

"Surely you've walked that long before." Sherlock reasoned, continuing to remove his shoes.

"That doesn't mean I like it." Jo-Ann replied and turned her head to the side to speak more clearly. "What were you looking for down there?"

"A man can't take a walk in the catacombs with his fake wife?" Sherlock smiled.

"Not at three hours a go you can't!" Jo-Ann groaned. Sherlock chuckled and leaned down towards her.

"You're cute." He said quietly, brushing her hair back and gently kissing her cheek. Jo-Ann went rigid at the action and felt a cold chill run up her back. The gesture was meant to last only for a second, but the detective found him incapable to pull away.

"Sh…Sherlock?" Jo-Ann asked while despite her frozen body, her cheeks lit aflame.

"Mm?" the detective hummed. He pulled his lips away long enough to only replace them on her face. One could say Sherlock's mind wasn't exactly clear at the moment, not processing that his actions were actually happening.

"What… What are you-uh… doing?" Jo-Ann tried to even speak as her detective kept kissing her face and made his way to her ear.

"Kissing you, obviously." Sherlock whispered. He gently nibbled her ear, only making the doctor more happy/nervous/shocked/pleased.

"I can see… see that, but why?..." She asked quietly.

"Why don't you stop pretending…" Sherlock continued to speak in hushed tones as he kissed down her face. "And actually be my wife?" he proposed while heading for her lips.

The impossibility of his words mixed with the impending shock of a kiss on the lips made her beg for sanity. It was so surreal and fuzzy as his lips neared. Her consciousness faded, making her panic and try to make it return.

"COME BACCCKKK!" Jo-Ann yelled as she abruptly sat up, apparently dreaming the whole time. Sherlock was sitting on the bed where she previously laid, but he was still taking off his shoes.

"What?" he asked with concern.

"What?" Jo-Ann replied with nothing better to say.

"…What?"

"What?!"

"Why did you suddenly wake up screaming?" Sherlock asked, standing up from the bed.

"uhhh… nightmare…" Jo-Ann lied. Actually it was the perfect dream, but she couldn't tell him that. "What happened?"

"…You lied down as soon as you came in and fell asleep." Sherlock explained. Jo-Ann slowly nodded and picked up her suitcase.

"…I'm taking a shower." She practically whispered as she stumbled into the bathroom. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.

Deangelo remained emotionless as a needle entered his forearm and shot a drug most familiar into his system. A truth serum meant to last only a few minutes. However Deangelo was not the one to inject such a serum.

"Hai detto niente ai tuoi amici, la famiglia, o qualsiasi tipo di straniero sugli eventi che sono accaduti in questa società? (Did you say anything to your friends, family, or any kind of stranger about the events that have happened in this society?)" The man standing over him asked in his slippery, hoarse voice.

"No… ma…(but)" Deangelo began against his will; that serum worked painfully fast. "Mio fratello ha chiamato un detective. Sherlock Holmes.(My brother has called a detecive.)"

"...Sherlock Holmes?" The man sneered.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey guys, I'm sorry it's been a whole week but i had a really big school project to do :( Anyway I'm sorry if my case is uninteresting or anything, I'm definitely not as good of a writer as the people at BCC :P**

**For this first scene, I wrote the dialogue in English although they would be speaking Italian. **

**Thanks for reading and please review! :D (no seriously, if you guys have ideas on how to make my case better, please let me know :P)**

Chapter 25

"I'm telling you! This could be our chance." Deangelo tried to reason with his friends in the hallway of their high school. He stood in the path of his three male friends to try to stop them. "We could finally get out of this…" His voice became desperate. The three other boys glanced at each other with concerned looks. Two of the tall teenagers each grabbed an arm of Deangelo while the remaining one led them to an area they could speak. They went into an empty class room and shut the door behind them.

"You need to stop this Deangelo." The tallest of the four, a boy with short brown hair and light brown eyes, grabbed Deagelo's shirt collar as he spoke. "If Rizzotti finds out-"

"I know what will happen." Deangelo interrupted. "But we don't have to tell Rizzotti! We can get help without saying anything even with the drug!" He pleaded with his eyes.

"What do you mean?" the boy asked, voicing the thoughts of the other two teenagers.

"Sherlock Holmes. He can solve our problem without us telling! He can find the evidence and put away Rizzotti for good." Deangelo said, making the three others look at each other. They all read the same expression and the tallest let go of Deangelo's shirt collar.

"Sorry. We are not willing to risk it, Deangelo. Good luck." The tallest bid and left the class room with the other boys. Deangelo sighed and straightened his shirt, taking his leave as well.

* * *

Sherlock huffed in boredom as he, Jo-Ann, and Massimo sat on one of the many metal benches in Deangelo's high school. It was a wrestling match against a rival school and Sherlock couldn't be more bored. Three days in Italy and all he managed to get was a possible homicidal teenager and a suspicion about his doctor. Jo-Ann chatted away with Massimo like a mad woman while ignoring the detective beside her. Sherlock grumbled to himself and crossed his arms, wishing he was back in 221B with his black coffee and flatmate typing away beside him. She was beside him now of course, but talking to a man who confessed his love for her the day before. Jo-Ann nudged Sherlock, pointing to the doorway of the gym.

"Sherlock, there's Deangelo!" she told him. Sherlock squinted in the direction she pointed and recognized the teen. He looked tired and depressed, but immediately hid it when he saw his wrestling team coach. The coach was a tall man in his forties with brown hair and grey highlights. He had a scarred nose and scars along his burly arms and legs where his clothing allowed showing. He wore a blue polo shirt with gold stripes along the sides (school colors) and baggy cargo shorts. He was obviously the coach with his blue visor and how the students addressed him. It was hard to tell specific details about him from that distance, but the fact that his scars where visible from there meant they were once quite serious injuries. The coach saw Deangelo come in and scolded him for being late. Deangelo apologized and got ready to begin warming up. Sherlock watched with curiosity as the coach stopped the young boy that was about to wrestle the match and pushed Deangelo to fight instead. The boy agreed instantly and backed away, letting Deangelo step in the circle in his place. Massimo's little brother removed the clothes he wore over his singlet and prepared to wrestle.

"Jo-Ann? Aren't wrestlers supposed to warm up before matches?" Sherlock leaned over to his doctor to speak over the noise of the gym.

"Yeah, usually. I don't know why Deangelo is fighting so quickly…" Jo-Ann agreed with his concerns and then turned to Massimo to ask. Massimo said the same before the bell chimed for the match to start. The two teens danced around each other, each ready to fight. The rival opponent acted first, charging in to grab Deangelo's shoulders. Deangelo blocked but kept his head against his opponent, waiting to strike. They stayed neutral for a minute, getting into holds or getting out of them with no scores. Sherlock became bored once again when the couch yelled from the outside of the circle.

"Deangelo! smettere di scherzare e combattere!" He shouted. Deangelo's eyes shot open as he attacked the opponent. He bit the arms and punched the stomach of the boy repeatedly, pushing him against the ground. Instantly the referee and coach from the opposing school rushed to action. Massimo stood up in shock and ran down to the gym floor. Jo-Ann and Sherlock stared wide-eyed as they pulled the fighting boys apart. The doctor got up as well and followed Massimo to the scene. Sherlock watched as Jo-Ann worked with the school nurse to aid the injured boy while two school officials yelled at Deangelo and his coach. Massimo was asked to back away, but like Jo-Ann, explained his way through. He reached his little brother and looked like he was asking millions of questions. Deangelo looked surprised at his presence and tried to explain everything with a simple apology going by what his lips read. Sherlock then stared at his coach, who strangely said nothing and only smiled slightly.

The chaos died down as the gym was cleared of both Deangelo and the injured boy. The matches continued, but Sherlock and Jo-Ann left to get a coffee. At a café, the doctor's concerns rose.

"Why do you think Deangelo attacked like that? He knew it was wrong and it would get him disqualified." Jo-Ann said before taking a sip of her creamy coffee.

"The coach told him to fight, so he did." Sherlock explained vaguely, mixing the sugar in his own drink.

"What do you mean?" his doctor asked.

"'Deangelo, smettere di scherzare e combattere'. The coach said to stop fooling around and fight. In an instant, Deangelo was striking on his opponent even though he knew it was wrong."

"So his coach's words made him do it?" Jo-Ann suggested.

"I think it was the fact that his coach said it at all. An action caused just by someone's voice suggests a traumatizing event that encourages an exact body response. Something very dark is going on behind the scenes." Sherlock said as he stared out the window, thinking. Jo-Ann nodded although confused. Sherlock glanced at his doctor and enjoyed the sight.

She leaned on the table with her elbows, one hand holding her cheek and the other unconsciously stirring her coffee with her spoon as she looked out the window. The soft sunlight shone on her face and illuminated her hair in golden glow. With her red jumper and blonde hair, her blue eyes stood out underneath half-lidded eyelids. Sherlock smiled and found himself staring directly at her. The relaxed expression, unconscious coffee stirring, staring at the scenery, it all read that she was extremely relaxed. When Jo-Ann was alone, she didn't seem half as content as she did when she was with her detective. Without make-up, without a glamorous outfit, without even trying, she was absolutely lovely to him. Jo-Ann glanced at Sherlock casually, not expecting him to be looking intensely back at her.

"W…What?" she asked, turning her head to him and putting her arm down. Sherlock smiled wider and stood up.

"You are truly beautiful Jo-Ann," he began as he put on his coat, "no wonder you have so many admirers." He placed enough euros on the table to pay for their coffee and headed out the door. Jo-Ann was confused but took the last sip of her coffee and grabbed her coat to follow him.

"What was that?!" Jo-Ann loudly asked as she caught up to her detective. Sherlock didn't bother slowing down as she neared, although he wanted to avoid her question. "Sherlock, what did you mean?" Jo-Ann asked firmly as she stopped directly in front of him. She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped to block him every time he tried to walk around her.

"Is this argument even relevant right now?" Sherlock asked as he tried once more to move, only to be stopped.

"Yes." His doctor looked up to him a concerned expression. "Yes, it is relevant. What did you mean?" it was hard to hear her over the busyness of the street, but Sherlock had grown accustomed to focusing on only her voice.

"I meant…" He looked around at anything but her, but found his eyes settling on her, almost scolding himself for looking away from her for even a second. "I meant exactly as it sounded. You're beautiful and lovely…" Sherlock slid his hand down her head and played with a strand of her hair for a moment. "…and don't believe anyone who tells you different."

Jo-Ann blinked a few times since she couldn't bear to look away. Feeling the embarrassment of flattery coming her secret love her instinct to joke rushed in.

"Feeling sentiment are we? How… sentimental." She stuttered and smiled. Sherlock looked confused and a bit offended.

"Of course I have sentiment for you. You're no… ordinary person… far from it." Sherlock explained and successfully walked around her.

"I hope so!" Jo-Ann joked, continuing to follow him. "I'd like to think you wouldn't move in with any sod off the street."

"Well you were a stranger when we moved in together." Sherlock pointed out. "Although there was some kind of… connection beforehand." He said although he couldn't truly explain.

"Oh, you felt it too?" Jo-Ann asked innocently, not knowing what a cord it struck. Sherlock stopped walking and gently grabbed his doctor's arm.

"You felt something when we met?" he asked seriously.

"Of course." Jo-Ann put her hands in her pockets. "I said before that when I met you I knew I was going to be with you for a very long time." She blushed a bit. Sherlock kept staring intensely. She began mumbling, too quiet for Sherlock to hear. "… and I felt something before entering the room too…"

"How long do you intend to stay with me?" Sherlock asked with all seriousness while still holding her arm. His blue eyes pierced Jo-Ann's as he patiently waited for an answer. Although every millisecond grinded his patience to the ground.

"Forever."

Jo-Ann didn't smile nor laugh to ease the heaviness of what she said. Only staring into her detective's eyes she let the statement sink in, her expression reading the seriousness of the word. Sherlock could feel his temperature rising. The silence lasted a few moments before Jo-Ann felt the seriousness had surely sunk in. "I mean if you'll keep me around that long." She laughed.

"Of course I would keep you around keep you around. Why wouldn't I keep you around? Why would-am I… That is…" Sherlock tore his eyes away from her and blushed slightly, letting go of her arm.

"Have I made Sherlock Holmes speechless yet again?" Jo-Ann smiled wildly, trying to look at his face every time he moved.

"N-no-what do you mean, again?!" Sherlock looked back at her, making her laugh even more. She began to list the times she made the detective flustered not knowing someone across the street had their sights the two.

A man sat at an outside table of a café, reading a newspaper and watching the detective and his doctor as they playfully argued. They made their way to Deangelo's school under the request of Sherlock, and the man quietly followed from a distance.

"Sherlock I don't think we are supposed to be here…" Jo-Ann warned from behind her detective as the crept into the empty high school, thanks to Sherlock's lock-picking skills.

"Relax, dear Watson. It's nothing we haven't done before." He reassured, glancing in both directions of the main hallway before sneaking in.

"Yes, but at least in London we have Lestrade or Mycroft to bail us out." Jo-Ann mumbled as she followed Sherlock's steps. "You know someone was following us right?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Yes I know. However in a place as quiet as this we will be able to hear him approaching. Do you have your gun?" Sherlock asked as he peaked around another corner and kept moving silently.

"Of course Sherlock, I smuggled a pistol through two airport security centers and have it loaded and ready right now!" Jo-Ann said sarcastically in a loud whisper.

"Good let me have it-"

"I WAS JOKING." She whispered so loud she was quietly screaming. Sherlock shot a confused look her way.

"No need to get huffy." Sherlock said calmly as they moved through the hallways and found a locked stairway. His curiosity of such a peculiar finding made him stop in his tracks. Jo-Ann sighed and rubbed her arm.

"Sorry… I just have a bad feeling about this… a really bad feeling…" the doctor said, knowing Sherlock wouldn't fully understand since the circumstances didn't seem all that dangerous. Sherlock looked up to her as he kneeled by the door, beginning to pick the number lock the secured the door handle with a chain.

"Oh? The only thing I'd worry about is the man following and he gave up a few minutes ago." Sherlock glanced at her every few seconds as he tried to figure out the number code or how to break the chain, either one.

"Think again." Jo-Ann said seriously as she stared down the hallway behind them. Sherlock looked up from the lock, and seeing her face, followed her gaze. The man, the one who had been following them, stood at the far and of the hallway and began walking rapidly towards them.

"You can't go there." The man said loudly in a very think accent, suggesting he didn't speak English very often.

"Uh scusateci, non volevamo alcun danno. E 'solo il nostro figlio ha lasciato qualcosa in là-(Uh please excuse us, we did not mean any harm. It's just that our son left something in there-)" Sherlock began to explain but was interrupted by the man that was now only a few feet away.

"Non ci sono no ragazzi inglesi qui (there are no English boys here)" The buff and tall man said intimidatingly. He had buzz cut black hair and dark tan skin, marked and blemished with scars that covered everywhere and overlapped each other in some places. But the scar that was most eye-catching was the dark red line going from the corner of his mouth stretching back to the bottom of his ear. He wore a plain brown suit but with trainers and his feet.

"Lui è adottato.(he is adopted.)" Sherlock explained the lie. The man smiled and nodded, but quickly pulled a revolver out from his jacket.

"Shit!" Jo-Ann cursed and immediately to action. She jumped in front of Sherlock and pushed the gun to the side, twisting the man's wrist to make him let go. But the man only stared at her, gripping the gun despite the action that would normally make someone drop it. Not a flinch came from him. Jo-Ann twisted harder while looking in disbelief, but was only met with a low chuckle. The man used is other large hand and gave hard a strike to her face. The doctor rocketed to the ground as the pain seared through her cheekbone and nose. She was sure one or the other was fractured, but she couldn't worry about that now.

Sherlock, after seeing Jo-Ann fall to the ground, tried to get the gun away as well. He grabbed the wrist Jo-Ann twisted and did the same, but this time using his other hand to hit the sensitive area to break the bone. Success was granted as the crack from the bone erupted, but the man remained emotionless. The hand became useless and the gun dropped to the ground. Sherlock dived for it but was met with a knee to the gut. Jo-Ann scrambled for the weapon, but it was kicked away by the apparent assassin. He grabbed Jo-Ann by the collar of her jacket with his good hand and lifted her off her feet. She clawed at his arm and kicked against his body, but nothing showed any result. Without a second thought, the man threw Jo-Ann to the wall, causing her to crash into it back-first. She groaned with pain but was thankful she didn't hit her head too hard. Sherlock regained himself enough to stand up and try to attack once more, but the man had picked up the revolver and had it pointed right at the detective's chest. Jo-Ann's heart raced as she looked up in time to see the man pull the hammer of the gun back and go for the trigger.

_Bang!_


	26. Chapter 26

**Sorry for the nasty cliff hanger guys :P I couldn't resist. But I have written an exciting chapter for you lovelies and I hope you forgive me :3**

**Please enjoy and review! **

Chapter 26

It was terrifying. The thought of losing Sherlock was mortally terrifying to Jo-Ann. It scared her mind so much she could hear her heart beating in every inch of her body. She felt a knot in her chest, pulling tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. Jo-Ann wouldn't have ever guessed that it only lasted a second. Her eyes focused from their blacked out state as the fuzzy image of Sherlock's stunning blue eyes came into her vision. But the scene was not what she thought, it seemed. Jo-Ann had Sherlock pinned against the floor as she pressed against his shoulders, not spotting any blood coming from his chest…

But from her abdomen instead.

The doctor glanced down at her own stomach and gasped at the growing red blotch on her already red jumper. Her black shooter jacket almost covered the sight, but didn't stop the pain that was just now sinking in.

"…Sherlock?" Jo-Ann looked up from her stomach and back to her detective, who was mortified. His eyes were as wide as they could go as he stared into hers. He gripped onto the sleeves of her jacket while her arms grew weak, and began to shake. "…Sher…" Jo-Ann started to say but began breathing rapidly as she rolled off of Sherlock and onto her back. Sherlock immediately sat up, but froze when he saw the man who shot his doctor now pointing the gun at him.

"Un avvertimento. (A warning.)" The man said before pocketing the revolver and running down the hall and towards the exit. Sherlock held his breath until the man was out of sight. Once he knew it was safe, he scuffled across the floor so he was at Jo-Ann's side.

"Shit shit shit shit shit…" Jo-Ann muttered while breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling with her hands covering the wound.

"Oh God…. Oh God…" Sherlock mumbled himself as he unzipped her jacket and forced her to move her hands. The blood was spreading at a surprising rate, turning her jumper from bright red to crimson. "Jo-Ann, Jo-Ann! Tell me what to do! I-I don't—I'm—"

"First off, don't panic." Jo-Ann interrupted and winced. "Sec..Secondly, we need a-a wrap of some kind to stop the bleeding." She gave instructions but couldn't help letting out a sharp breath and tilted her head back, causing her ponytail to go further underneath her. Sherlock was almost wrecked just witnessing such a scene. "The nurses office is just around the corner go get some bandage wrap and a clean cloth now!" Sherlock nodded vigorously and ran, clumsily rising from the floor. Jo-Ann pressed down on the own wound as the blood fully flowed through her sweater and stained her hands.

Sherlock ransacked the nurse's office looking for the supplies his doctor needed. He was positive he could hear his own mouth muttering the mother of all curse words as he counted the seconds. After a few moments, what felt like ages, Sherlock found the necessary items and ran out the door. He nearly skid across the floor as he kneeled by Jo-Ann and set down the supplies.

"Now what?!" Sherlock asked with a distressed voice.

"Now take… the cloth…" Jo-Ann explained through a few hard swallows and sharp breaths. "And stop the bleeding… by pressing the cloth down, ok?" she tried to explain simply and sweetly. Sherlock nodded and lifted her jumper gently. The bullet wound was just below her rib cage and off to the left. Sherlock reached to put pressure on it when Jo-Ann grabbed his wrist. "No matter how much I scream or kick… you _have _to keep applying pressure for six minutes, you understand?" she asked seriously. Sherlock nodded once again and pressed down on the wound with force. Jo-Ann arched her back and neck, holding back the ear piercing scream that was on her tongue. She let out sounds of pain as the detective continued to apply pressure and clenched her fists. Her legs lifted off the ground only to slam back down, but Sherlock kept following her instructions. Jo-Ann calmed down a bit and breathed heavily through her nose. "You're trained for this Watson… trained for this…" She told herself. A few more minutes passed before Jo-Ann used her shaky hands to reach into her pant pocket and pull out her phone.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked with a slight crack in his voice, while still holding the bloody cloth in his hands.

"I need you… to call the police." Jo-Ann's speaking was beginning to slow and she was growing tired, never a good sign. "It's ok to use one hand for pressure, the bleeding is slowing down." She explained. Sherlock nodded, making his curls bounce, but stared at nothing in particular. "Sherlock." His doctor called him, catching his attention back. He looked into her eyes and felt tears beginning to form. "I need you to focus, alright? I need you." Jo-Ann told him and lifted the phone. Sherlock's distress faded as he grabbed the mobile and dialed the police. Jo-Ann couldn't understand any of it, but Sherlock handled it calmly and neatly. After informing the police of their location and the nature of their situation, Sherlock hung up and put the phone on the floor to continue using both hands for pressure.

"Okay, I think you can use the-the… wrap now to secure the cloth." Jo-Ann instructed. Sherlock quickly did as he was told and took the bandage in his red stained hands. After wrapping her waist and moving her jumper back down, the detective leaned against the wall and cradled his doctor in his arms.

Jo-Ann could feel the bandage around her wound and had to admire Sherlock's medical work, despite the excruciating pain she was in. Being a doctor, she had already figured out the bullet didn't go all the way through and was stuck somewhere in her kidney, it would need to be removed. She sighed, but grunted in pain. Suddenly a drop of something wet plopped on her cheek, then another. Jo-Ann looked up at Sherlock, who was staring right into her eyes. He had tears streaming down his cheeks, drops falling without him even blinking. He turned his head away slightly and looked at the ground in front them, gasping as a few more tears fell.

"I haven't cried in twelve years." Sherlock admitted as he looked back to her. "When I was being myself, anyway." He cracked a smile but it quickly faded and turned into a quiver. "Please… don't… don't die." Sherlock pleaded before silently weeping. The severity of the situation and the possibility of actually losing his doctor fully sunk in. Jo-Ann had never seen him like this, so un-collected and openly showing such emotion. She reached her hand up and wiped his cheeks dry with her sleeve.

"I said forever, right? I'm not going to die." Jo-Ann smiled as Sherlock took her hand in his, the hand he wasn't using to hold her back. Their fingers were stained red, although most of the blood was dry by now. He didn't look relieved, but his crying stopped. "Talk to me, keep me awake." Jo-Ann told him with a relaxing expression, but she shook her head slightly.

"Um… ok… do you know what happened? How you… got injured?" Sherlock asked. Jo-Ann furrowed her brow to remember while adrenaline was kicking in, making her happy and relaxed.

"Not really… I blacked out." She laughed. "What happened?"

"You saved me." Sherlock smiled a bit and gripped her hand tighter. "You pushed me out of the way… and took the bullet." He let out a choked laugh and threatened to cry again. "Why would you… why would you do something like that?" he began shaking more than he already was as Jo-Ann's eye softened. "You-You could have just… gone for th-the gun instead of me but…" he stopped speaking and looked away, trying to keep himself from crying.

"I couldn't risk it." Jo-Ann answered, making Sherlock look back in her direction. "I couldn't risk the possibility of you getting shot and I didn't care if I was hit instead."

"But… but you're a doctor-you could have…" Sherlock tried to think of ways to avoid the scenario they were already in, like if he could, Jo-Ann would be healed. Sherlock carefully brought his doctor closer and hid his face in her shoulder, softly weeping and still holding her hand. "I can't… I can't risk it either. Losing you…" he nearly whispered into her neck with a broken voice. Jo-Ann's heart beat faster. "I-I can't… even begin to imagine life without you I-I…" Jo-Ann loosened her hand from Sherlock's for a moment, but replaced it and intertwined their fingers. "Y-You changed my life and showed me things about myself I never knew… and continue to each day…" his mouth began rambling. "Did you know the room just… it just lights up where ever you stand?" Sherlock squeezed her hand tighter. "A-And I get that weird… whatever-its-called feeling in my stomach when you laugh…" Jo-Ann giggled softly at this, proving his statement to be true. "It's-It's just like…"

"Magic?" Jo-Ann suggested. Sherlock sat up a bit, keeping their faces close, and looked her in the eyes. Jo-Ann laughed and winced at the pain that followed.

"You told me… most of this when you were recovering from that-uh drug… Adler gave you." Jo-Ann smiled. Sherlock's pink cheeks became red. "That, and I feel… the same thing… you know?" the doctor blushed as well but worried as her fatigue was getting worse.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked seriously. He kept his fingers intertwined with Jo-Ann's tightly, afraid she would let go.

"Now for a genius…you can be… a bit slow." She joked with a short breath. Sherlock blinked with an open mouth a few times in confusion. Police sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder and louder. Jo-Ann smiled without knowing it as her consciousness was growing fuzzy. If this wound was more severe than she thought, she needed to tell him now. She squeezed his hand as tight as she could, turning her fingertips white.

"Sherlock… I love… you."

Jo-Ann said between heavy breaths as her vision became blurry. Sherlock's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. His insides screamed with joy, making him question his own sanity. All his thoughts, his consciousness, it was all focused on her; something he never thought could happen with a mind like his.

"I … love you… Sherlock… love… you…" Jo-Ann continued to tell him, but got quieter as her grip on his hand loosened. Sherlock glanced at her hand, and then her relaxing face as her eyes were fluttering closed.

"No… no, no, no! NO! Jo-Ann! Come on! Stay awake!" He panicked and let go of her hand to tap her face repeatedly. The sirens were loudest now as the policemen finally arrived, and by the sound of it, were searching the school. "Aiuto!" Sherlock called for help in Italian, looking in both directions of the hallway for policemen. Jo-Ann was breathing, but her breaths looked far too short and she wasn't responding to him. "AIUTO!" Sherlock's voice echoed.

Three policemen and two paramedics escorted Sherlock and Jo-Ann out of the building, Jo-Ann on a stretcher. The rest of the medical team carried her into the ambulance, giving her oxygen and examining her wounds. Sherlock couldn't hide his distress from the policemen as they tried to find out all the facts from him. They gave Sherlock a ride to the hospital, following the ambulance that carried his doctor.

Sherlock sat on a waiting bench in the hall outside one of the many surgery rooms. He leaned on his elbows with his hands together by his mouth, although his legs shaking did make it difficult. Minutes felt like hours, which was dreadful since he had been waiting for a half-hour already. Just then, Massimo burst through the door and jogged over to Sherlock. He headed to the hospital as soon as he got a text from Jo-Ann's phone, sent by Sherlock, explaining the situation. Massimo looked breathless as he stared down at Sherlock and asked if she was alright. The detective explained that he didn't know and was just as worried. Although he knew in his mind he was far more distressed. The surgeon came out from the operating room, causing Sherlock to stand up immediately. The polite man reassured Sherlock and Massimo that Jo-Ann was alive and doing well, although they had to remove her right kidney. They both sighed in relief and watched as the wheeled Jo-Ann out of the operating room and down the hall. Sherlock caught a glimpse of her pale body and his breath cut short because of it. The surgeon waved them forward and showed them to her room. They waited outside for a moment before the nurses came out and informed the men they could go in. Sherlock entered immediately and froze. Jo-Ann looked hurt and helpless, lying on the hospital bed in her white gown and covered with the whiter sheet. The pulse oximeter connected to her finger beeped consistently with her heart. Sherlock pulled a chair next to the bed and tried to sit as close as possible without actually climbing into the bed.

"She needs blood." A doctor said as he entered the room, speaking moderately good English. "But we do not have any that is compatible with hers." The older man said in his accent. "We are still running tests, but if we don't find some soon she-"

"I'll donate." Sherlock said nonchalantly and unbuttoned his cuff. Rolling back his sleeve he reached his arm out to the doctor without looking away from Jo-Ann. The doctor looked surprised for a moment and tried to object. "Go on. I have negative type O blood, the transaction should be successful." Sherlock spoke while continuing to stare at the woman he cared so dearly for. The doctor said nothing more and called the nurses in. The staff worked to get Sherlock ready for draining the amount of blood Watson needed. Massimo watched from the other side of the room. Sherlock's eyes never left Jo-Ann's face as he held his jaw in one hand, leaning on his knee. He didn't flinch when the nurse put the IV in his arm and the blood began filling the intravenous bag. Massimo's eyes softened as he felt both touched and disheartened at the sight.

After the blood was collected and hung up on the IV pole, the nurses and doctor left while only the policeman remained. Sherlock rested his elbows on the bed and gently kept his hand on top of hers. He grew tired from the day's events and leaned down, putting his head next to her. His consciousness dwindled and he lazily drifted to sleep, even if Massimo and a policeman were watching.

Jo-Ann stirred a bit, furrowing her brow and scrunching her nose as the blissful sleep she was in was fading. The pain of her gunshot wound was subtle, making her thank whatever angel gave her painkillers. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, catching the first glimpses of her hospital room. She examined the ceiling with confusion and slowly made her way down to the tan walls that made her relaxed. A policeman was sitting by the door and nodded to her. Jo-Ann raised an eyebrow and looked around for anyone else in the room. A small ruffling sound came from her right, making her lift her head a bit to see. There, right next to her hips, Sherlock slept. His arms were folded around his head, hiding most of his face as his hand gently squeezed her fingers. Jo-Ann smiled fondly at her detective, feeling like she could squeal with joy.

"Hey…" she said quietly, lifting the hand he held out from under him and placed it on top of his head. "Sherlock?" she asked sweetly as she stroked his head, smoothing back his silky curls. Sherlock hummed a bit in response, shifting in place. "Sherlock, are you awake?"

"Mmm…" the detective mumbled, "…Jo-Ann…" he said quietly… then his eyes shot open with realization. He lifted his head up and looked at her now awake face.

"Morning." Jo-Ann smiled and gave his curls a ruffle before setting her hand down.

"Jo-Ann! How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked with concern as he sat up and pulled his chair closer to the bed. He wiped the tired from his eyes.

"Actually, brilliant for someone who was just shot." The doctor giggled. "Must be the painkillers." She looked at her IV for a moment before turning back to Sherlock, then back to the IV. Fresh blood was being pumped into her slowly, but the bag looked almost empty. "Does that mean I can say I have Italian blood running through my veins?" Jo-Ann laughed and pointed to the blood bag. Sherlock snickered and rolled back his sleeve.

"Nope." He held his arm to her and showed the bandage covering where they drained the blood. Jo-Ann opened her mouth in surprise but it formed into a smile. The officer rose and opened the door to call the doctor in. The older man entered with a smile.

"Good evening Mrs. Holmes how are you?" he greeted and put his hands on the foot of the bed.

"I'm wonderful, Doctor. I suppose I had to have my kidney done away with, yeah?" Jo-Ann asked, although she was a bit surprised to hear it was evening. The _other _doctor seemed surprised at her knowing.

"…Yes, but you should be just fine Mrs. Holmes. I'll let the nurses know you're awake." He smiled a bit and left the room. Jo-Ann lazily turned her head to Sherlock and smiled with half lidded eyes.

"You did great." She thanked him and took his hand back. "We're even."

"I am still in your debt. You've saved my life three times now." Sherlock said with a serious face and squeezed her hand.

"You gave me a better life." Jo-Ann told him. "But, if you really want to repay me…" she said with a teasing tone and tapped her cheek with her index finger, tilting said cheek towards him. Sherlock rolled his eyes quickly and leaned forward. He planted a smooth kiss on her cheek that lasted a few seconds, long enough for Jo-Ann's face to become red. "Thank you." She smiled after he pulled away and started to speak again. "So about the culprit-"

"I wasn't finished." Sherlock interrupted as he stayed close to her face and looked down at her lips with a tiny smile. Jo-Ann's jaw dropped a bit and her eyes went wide. The detective chuckled and leaned in, sending waves of chills over the doctor's body. Then…

Magic.

Sherlock latched onto Jo-Ann's lips with his own and moved softly across the surface. Jo-Ann stayed still for a moment, wondering if this was another dream. But after quickly pinching her wrist, she realized it was real and kissed back with force. Sherlock opened his eyes for a bit, not sure what to do, but sighed and closed them again. He rose from his seat and leaned over Jo-Ann with one arm across her and on the bed. Jo-Ann, still dizzy from the reality of it all, wrapped her arms around his neck and entangled her fingers in his curls. They stayed like that for a minute or two, no tongue or lust, just sweet love. Sherlock couldn't have asked for a better first (official) kiss.

But he could have asked the hospital staff to leave them be.

"Mi scusi..." A sweet young nurse knocked on the door frame as she entered. She didn't look all that surprised at their activity and even smiled. Sherlock gently pulled away from the kiss and sighed in disappointment. Jo-Ann giggled and let go of his neck as he leaned back and sat down. The nurse spoke and Sherlock translated it as "I'm here to check up on you."

The young lady checked Jo-Ann's IV and vitals to see if the blood transfer was a success. It was, and Jo-Ann was fit as a fiddle for a good recovery. After the nurse left, Sherlock sighed and ran his hand down his face.

"I hate hospitals… only the morgue interests me." He groaned.

"Well, I'll see what I can do." Jo-Ann said and laid down as flat as she could to pretend she died. Sherlock laughed and took her hand again, causing her to turn her head to him and grin.

"I love you." Sherlock said in the sweetest voice he could and intertwined their fingers. "That kiss is to be continued, by the way."

"Definitely." Jo-Ann laughed and prayed her heart wouldn't pop when he said those three little words that changed her world.


End file.
